


The Eternity We Desire

by z0mbieshake



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Affairs, Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, F/M, M/M, Murder Mystery, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 123,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: After the death of Felix, Peter lives a meaningless life all grown up, haunted by the boy he cherished in childhood and mercilessly bullied in high school. Through an unknown power, Peter goes back in time to rectify his mistakes and reconcile with Felix, determined to put their lives together at the cost of everything. His mission leads him to uncover a far more sinister plot hidden in his past.Inspired by Kei Sanbe's ERASEDRenamed from "Immovable Destiny"





	1. Dear You

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the final Panlix story I'll ever write so I figured I should make it a full-blown behemoth. Unfortunately, I've lost most of my original Betas so I apologize ahead of time for some incorrect grammar and odd sounding dialogue. It has been a fun ship! Anyway, I hope you enjoy my final Panlix epic!

**Monday February 15 th, 2010**

Snow falling from the sky, a voice low but steady, “I know the teacher made us work together but it was…good,” Felix said, peering up from his hood, his expression stoic and cold despite the warmth of his words.

“Can you stop this?”

Felix blinked, paused, and blinked again, “What?”

Peter could see Felix flinch when they made eye contact, knew that somehow, his glare was causing Felix pain, “We’re not friends. There’s no way in hell I would ever be your friend. We’re working together on a project. That’s all.”

Felix trembled harder with each word, torn down by Peter’s words, “It was nice.”

“Nice? Are you insane?” Peter said, fidgeting with his scarf briefly before throwing his arms to his side, “Don’t _ever_ talk to me again.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Felix backed away, eyes hidden under his hood, old sneakers filled with slush as he turned away and ran off the schoolgrounds. Peter took a deep breath, brushing a hand through his hair, hoping he’d never have to deal with his former best friend turned high school freak.  

 

That was the last time he ever spoke to Felix, the last known time _anyone_ spoke to Felix.

 

**Wednesday January 25 th, 2017**

There was a numbness in the air when Peter awoke, an emptiness he could feel in his chest spread throughout his entire body. He swallowed, blinking twice before sitting up slowly, letting his apartment come into focus. His bed faced a giant crack on the wall, one that started in the bottom right corner and slithered all the way up to the center of the surface. Peter had a poster of some old movie from his high school days to cover it up, make his place look just slightly less trashy. He honestly couldn’t say that helped.

Peter swung his legs over the side of his bed, sliding his feet into slippers as he pulled open the thick black curtains, sighing heavily when he saw the snowstorm. The cold from the outside was already seeping in through the walls. Peter quickly glanced at the clock, brow twitching up as he returned to bed, curling up on his side. He could afford another ten minutes of sleep, build up his heat and energy.

 

“You’re rejecting it?” Peter said, lips pulled into a grimace, “Why’d you ask me to come in then?”

A man with bleached hair and sharp eyes sat across from Peter, fingers tapping on the manuscript Peter had spent months on, “You’ve submitted your manuscript to me for months now, for _two years_ if we count other editors, and every time, we just can’t move forward with it no matter how many times you fix it up. We called you in because we wanted to speak with you face-to-face.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, hand gliding over the uneven stubble on his chin, “About what?”

The man took a deep breath looking almost irritated, “I’ll be honest with you. First time you pitched your graphic novel to us, I was very excited. A retelling of Neverland with a focus on the Lost Boys and a villainous Peter Pan. It was edgy, smart, and let’s be honest, everyone’s obsessed with gritty reboots nowadays. We saw your portfolio and your art was… good, not great, could use some work, but it was a good start,” He tapped a heavy finger against the manuscript, “But this? Frankly put, it’s childish. It’s simple. The characters have no depth and seem to exist just to shill Peter Pan.”

Peter’s eye twitched, his knee shaking under the table, “Can you explain?”

“I can give you an example. Let’s look at this character,” The editor flipped through the manuscript landing on a panel with a lanky, pale-haired boy, “ _Felix_.”

Peter was honestly surprised. He thought Felix was his most well-written character.

“He’s a yes-man to Peter Pan, supporting everything he does, getting exactly what he wants whenever he takes Pan’s side. The closest he gets to a conflict is when Devin questions whether Pan would show him the same amount of loyalty. And that is never resolved; we’re just supposed to assume that Devin was in the wrong. Why doesn’t Felix have any say? After everything he’s done, why doesn’t he question Pan in the slightest? He has no substance, nothing to make me care.”

“Felix is a symbol of loyalty being rewarded,” Peter said too suddenly, too harshly, “He’s a positive message of hard work even at the face of adversity especially after struggling through the life he had before Neverland.”

The editor reclined in his chair, brow creased with equal parts amusement and skepticism, “You say that, but your work is too juvenile to portray it properly.”

Perhaps throwing the man’s coffee into his face was a bit childish but Peter could not find a better reaction. He was happy the editor didn’t press charges, letting him off with a simple snark to his childishness. Peter marched his way down the street, clinging onto his manuscript like it still had value. This wasn’t the worst thing someone had said to him about his work. He’d been through other publishers that simply laughed at his face and shut him out. But for some reason, even to the most reasonable of editors he’d ever dealt with, Peter had never been so offended in his life.

 _Peter knew why_. His fingers were already in the pages of his manuscript, flipping through the pages till he reached that same panel his editor had found. He bit down on his lip, fighting the sting in his chest. He lost control for just a second when a snowflake settled onto the panel, soaking it and staining the drawing. Peter shut the manuscript, holding it tightly closed, unable to take another step forward.

 

“You know, at a time like this, shouldn’t you be hanging out with your friends instead of your dad?” The scruffy older man said as he came by with two mugs of hot chocolate, placing one on the coffee table in front of his son who remained faced down on the couch.

Peter snorted, turning his head so he was no longer speaking into the fabric, “I don’t have any friends.”

“Come on, you’re just being silly now,” Malcolm replied, shoving Peter’s legs off the couch so he could sit down and sip his hot chocolate, “What about Simon or Cory? Or your lady friend?”

“They’re just party friends. Not like we care about each other or anything,” Peter said, brows furrowed in annoyance thinking about his ‘friends’, “And Wendy’s not on speaking terms with me after I ditched her for a threesome.”

Malcolm snickered lightly, “I don’t blame you,” He gave his son a pat on the head, “And so here you are, talking to dear old dad about your problems,” He took the manuscript off the table, “ _Neverland_. Chapter one, the boy who never grew up. You might want to think of a more creative title.”

“Get in line. I’ve already got enough pointers from the rest of the editors that turned me down,” Peter snapped back, unconsciously defensive.

“No need to get snippy. I’m just making a comment,” Malcolm replied, placing his hot chocolate beside Peter’s and flipping through the manuscript, “You talk this way to your editors?”

Peter huffed, pouting as he squeezed a large pillow under his chin, “Sometimes.”

Malcolm shook his head, amused, “Maybe this is why your editors keep turning you down. You still haven’t outgrown your adolescent atti—” Malcolm paused, eyes narrowing as he examined the hooded figure always towering beside Pan, “Wait. Is this Felix?”

The manuscript was suddenly snatched from Malcolm’s hands, replacing the pillow that was clutched to Peter’s body. Peter snapped his glare to the floor, pout even worse but now filled with sorrow instead of anger. Malcolm said nothing, simply waiting on the couch for his son’s tantrum to pass. He reclined on the cushions, expression neutral but welcoming as Peter relaxed his grip on the manuscript and looked to his father.

“The editor criticized my writing for Felix. It wasn’t the worst thing someone’s ever said to me but it just… hurt,” Peter lay the manuscript on his lap, “That’s why I threw a coffee at him.”

Malcolm burst into laughter, shortly catching himself and clearing his throat to distract the humour fluttering in his chest, “R-right. Sorry,” He cleared his throat loudly again, “I remember. He was your best friend since you were in kindergarten, always going over to his house to play.”

“Then we drifted apart. I… _hated him for years_ until we got put on an art project together,” Peter explained, finding himself able to recall that moment of his life in excruciating detail down to the way Felix’s hands would articulate everything he drew on the page, how Peter was _perfect_ on every drawing Felix made while everything else was hellish and painful to look at, “And when he reached out to me, I threw it back at him. That was the last thing I ever said to him.”

Two months after Felix disappeared, after Felix’s mother skipped town and the police were too concerned with hunting her down, Felix’s body turned up in a garbage bag thrown into an abandoned well, weighed down to the bottom by bricks that eventually wore down the bag, allowing Felix’s grotesque, butchered form to breach the surface. Peter begged his mother for the police report, skipped school and came right into the sheriff’s office begging her through sobs to let him know what happened to Felix.

Peter didn’t know if he was glad or not that it wasn’t suicide.

“I don’t know why I was so resistant to make up with him,” Peter said weakly.

“Who ever wants to be friends with the school freak?” Malcolm replied, voice serious to convey the tragic truth behind his words, “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what would happen.”

“But I could have saved him,” Peter looked to his father, eyes alive for the first time since he showed up, “He probably ran away and someone kidnapped him while he was vulnerable. Or he went back to his mother and she killed him. That’s why Felix is so important in this story,” He lifted his manuscript, flipping through the pages once more, “It’s supposed to make everything right again. _If I could go back and save Felix_ , this is how it would’ve gone,” He threw the manuscript onto the table, falling back into the couch and sweeping a hand over his hair, “Fuck me, I’ve got more important things to think about than this.”

Malcolm placed a cautious hand on Peter’s shoulder, carefully shaking him out of his numbness, “This _is_ important. Felix was important to you and you clearly have unresolved issues from this. Why don’t we go see him? We’ll leave some flowers and maybe you can find some closure.”

“I need to find a job,” Peter replied, voice heavy, hiding his fear with haughtiness, “I don’t have time for this.”

“That can wait. We deal with this first, put it behind us, and then you can work on your manuscript again,” Malcolm said, Peter’s usually nonsensical father putting on a serious face for his son. Peter couldn’t help but feel endeared, “Finish up your hot chocolate. This looks like one of those occasions where we have cake for dinner.”

Peter’s lips stretched into a smile before he even realized it, “Actually, I’m feeling burgers tonight.”

Malcolm chuckled back at him, searching through his fridge for a package of ground beef, “You sure you’re not just here to mooch off a free meal?”

“I’ve been doing it all my life. Why stop?” Peter replied, putting the manuscript back into his satchel and joining his father in the kitchen.

It took several tries before Peter finally committed to it, his father pushing him forward whenever he could, forcing him to step back from his failed manuscript and try something else. Peter settled on the only date he could remember: February 15th, the day Felix disappeared, Peter decided that would be the day to visit Felix’s grave. The night before, Peter remained on the bed staring at the clock, waiting for midnight to pass. He looked over at the shabby desk he had by the window, barely bigger than a TV table with uneven legs, where his work-in-progress manuscript lay. Peter climbed off the bed sluggishly, eyes drifting from the laptop on top of his manuscript to the mood board crafted from an old cork board.

 _One more rewrite, one more fix_ , he always told himself after he was rejected by his editor. Peter couldn’t understand; _Neverland_ was perfect in his mind, a rich, vivid environment with dark and complex characters. Why did everything turn into crayons and power fantasies when he drew it out? What restrained him from writing what was truly in his heart?

_“Thank you for spending time with me.”_

Peter flinched violently, whipping around his apartment, searching for the voice that spoke to him, “Felix?” He murmured, lip trembling. His eyes drifted to the corkboard again, fingers finding a sketch of Felix he had made on the back of an angry letter from his landlord.

His failure to move past his self-absorbed high school life and accept an outcast that was crying for help, his failure to let go of the past and forgive himself for letting someone he once cherished die, Peter couldn’t move on so he stayed just as he was, a stupid, childish brat that portrayed himself and his work through the lens of a naïve child.

Perhaps his father was right, Peter thought as he sat back down on his bed. Saying goodbye to Felix, finding closure, this would set his future back on the right path. He could find a job, make friends, _move on_.

_The thought of doing so while Felix’s remains decomposed in a well made him sick._

 

**Saturday February 15 th, 2017**

Peter was late to his father’s house. He reasoned with himself that it was the traffic or the clumsy florist who couldn’t put a proper bouquet together or the bakery that failed to get his order of chocolate cake correct. Peter knew the truth, could feel the hesitation, could _see_ Felix standing in the distance, his youth forever preserved in memory, his smile forever lost. Peter was afraid.

Peter exited the bakery, carrying the cake in one hand and flowers in the other. He figured he should thank his father with dessert for bringing him to Felix’s grave, for giving him this idea to begin with: _Closure, moving on_ ¸ Malcolm promised this would help, promised this would help him change his career. If he wrote Felix out from his manuscript, if he cut his lingering guilt from his life’s work, would it be stronger? Peter looked down at the flowers in his hands, bothered when he realized he’d nearly squeezed them to death.

There was nothing holding him back as he waited for the bus, acceptance just a moment away, until he caught the eye of the new sheriff at the back of the bus. The ash-haired woman looked up, catching Peter’s eye and immediately smiling, “Peter! It’s been a while.”

What Peter needed was _closure_. Malcolm could help him move on from his past but another person could help him end the story. He whipped out his phone, texting his expected tardiness to his father before sitting beside the new sheriff, “I need your help with something.”

Well into the afternoon, the cake half eaten when Peter decided to have a snack, Peter was finally making his way to his father. Texting a quick “ _I’ll be there soon_ ”, Peter leapt off the bus with flowers, half a cake, and a folder of reports from the sheriff’s office, provided to him kindly by his mother’s successor.

He could say goodbye to Felix to his grave but he could also dig through the clues, try to find anything that hinted what had happened, and if he failed, it would still be okay because Peter tried his best to find closure for not only himself, but Felix as well.

“Dad!” Peter shouted, opening the front door, plopping the cake down on the nearby desk, “I have an idea,” He stepped into the kitchen where he figured his father would be snacking, “Mum’s friend got me all the reports from that case. I know its probably a lost cause but it would—” Peter stopped where he was when he noticed his father was missing, “…Dad?” He heard shuffling above him, heavy footsteps on the second floor where _his_ old room would’ve been.

The hair on his skin was standing, his left eye twitching, something was gravely wrong. Leaving the folder, cake, and flowers, Peter opted to take the chef’s knife with him from the kitchen and make his way slowly upstairs. The lights were on in both his room and his father’s. _Someone was in his room_ , sorting through what sounded like his drawers. He meant to peek in there, see who it was and bolt out the house, but _his foot caught on a puddle of blood_ and Peter tumbled to the ground with a loud thud. He groaned, rolling onto his side, and finding himself in another pool of blood. Peter blinked twice, eyes focusing on _his father’s corpse_ ¸ chest covered with stabs, missing one eye.

The body gasped suddenly. _He was alive_ , but not for long. Peter reached forward, Malcolm gasping, “R-Run,” He choked out, head twisting backwards, eyes rolling backwards.

Peter screamed, voice cracking, hands slipping backwards as he scrambled away from his father’s room and into a pair of legs. Peter didn’t turn around, didn’t even register the knife he had dropped before lunging forward and tripping over the stairs, tumbling down and striking the granite floor at the bottom harshly down his spine. Peter groaned but had no chance to recover. He opened his eyes and scrambled backwards automatically when he saw a man garbed in black approaching him with a knife in hand.

“Sh-Shit!” Peter hissed, limbs slipping around pathetically under him as he scrambled to his feet and charged forward, throwing the nearby tables down behind him to slow his assailant.

Peter ran into the kitchen, eyeing the folder and unable to stop himself from reaching for it reflexively. Just as his fingers made contact, the harsh steel of a knife sliced across his back. Peter choked out a gasp, tumbling forward and striking his head against the kitchen counter. Disoriented and weak, Peter backed himself into the counter, watching his assailant approach slowly. Brown hair, round, dark eyes, a face that looked soft and almost youthful but covered in a light scruff, that image would be the last thing Peter would see. Peter realized this immediately when his assailant grabbed him by the hair.

“W-Why?” Peter gasped, struggling like a wild animal, one hand still tightly grasping Felix’s case.

The metal was warm when it came against his throat. The pain was sharp, sudden, but the shock was the worst as blood squirted from his throat like a geyser, coming out in spurts with his rapid heartbeat. A familiar numbness filled him, his body feeling hollow as he collapsed into a puddle of his own blood. The papers scattered onto the ground, staining themselves in his blood.

Just before Peter shut his eyes, before the darkness claimed him, a photo slid out from the bundle of papers hidden in the folder, a corpse’s head, decapitated at the throat, swollen with water and marred with bruises and scars, golden hair turned an ashen colour.

“F-Felix…” Peter choked out, seeing the boy laying beside him, not a photo, not a dilapidated corpse, but the boy he once loved before he was cast aside for a shallow, meaningless high school existence.

Felix was staring at him, hair stained with blood and sweater soaking it up. It didn’t seem to bother him as a smile stretched over his face, a sweet look in his eyes. With Peter’s fading strength, bones feeling like lead, Peter reached forward to take Felix’s hand, to fix his last moment with him, to stop him from going home and disappearing from Peter’s life.

 _I’m going to save you._ Peter thought through the encroaching darkness, watching Felix fade away with his consciousness. _I’ll save you. I’ll save you. I’ll save you._

Not without a proper closure, not without finding out the truth, _not without saving Felix_ , Peter wouldn’t die. Peter would keep fighting. Blood filling his throat, body like lead, Peter threw his head back and screamed and screamed and screamed…

 

“ _Felix!_ ” Peter screamed, nearly leaping off his bed. His heartbeat was erratic, his chest feeling heavy. Immediately, his hands flew up to his neck, finding the skin intact, not a single trace of blood on him. He whipped his head around, unable to find his assailant. He was back in bed, having woken from a nightmare.

Peter nearly flopped back onto his bed in relief till he noticed the large, handmade desk in his room, a desktop computer with a big, clunky monitor sitting upon it, a charcoal sketch hanging from the lamp. Peter blinked several times more, scanning the room, seeing a painting in the corner, a stack of paintbrushes and canvases balanced haphazardly on a stool.

_What the hell?_

Peter ran a hand over his chin feeling smooth skin, ran a hand into his hair and not feeling his floppy, unkempt mess.

“Hey, what happened?” Malcolm said, opening the door, “You were screaming. Did you have a nightmare?”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His father, cleanly shaven without his usually peppering of greying hair all over his head, standing at his door _alive._ Peter could barely choke out a response, almost in tears, “Yeah. Nightmare.”

Malcolm snickered lightly, reaching forward to stroke his son’s head, “This old and still having night terrors? I can get your nightlight for you if you want,” Peter wanted to roll his eyes but couldn’t bear to, the image of his father’s corpse still fresh in his mind, “Get some sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

 _School_? Peter didn’t get to inquire before Malcolm left his room, shutting the door behind him. The moment his father left, Peter leapt to his feet, sorting through his bag for his phone. He blinked, staring at the slider phone with a cheap feather charm attached to it. He swallowed as he slid it open, stomach dropping as he saw the date: _2010_. He’d gone back _seven_ years.

Seven years.

 _Wait._ This year, this specific year, in grade eleven, _Felix went missing_. Peter looked to his desk, taking the sketch off from the lamp. From the long face and the crooked line across the center, Peter knew _this_ was his final project with Felix. Without a doubt, from some godly force that he couldn’t understand, Peter clutched the sketch to his forehead, praying that this wasn’t just some fever dream before his death.

**Monday February 1 st, 2010**

“You’re up early,” Malcolm said, stopping as he walked past his son’s room, “Got a hot breakfast date?”

Peter scoffed under his breath, always appreciative of his father’s odd comments, “Got something to work on,” He replied, sorting through the papers in his bag. He wasn’t aware he was such a mess in school, stuffing everything into a single binder with loose sheets tacked on with paper clips.

“Well, I’ve got some toast going. If you want breakfast, you can take one of those,” Malcolm said, “But only one. The other’s for me.”

“Yes, dad,” Peter said with exaggerated endearment. Malcolm snorted in reply, twiddling his fingers before returning to the kitchen.

Without the distraction, Peter found his agenda, flipping through the pages till he found today’s date: February 1st, two weeks before Felix disappeared, a week into the art project he had been partnered with Felix. Peter’s eyes lifted, seeing the drawing hanging from the lamp, a sketch of Felix’s face he had done in charcoal using a photo he had taken on his phone. Peter bit down on his lip, remembering clearly how disgusted he acted when Felix was assigned as his partner, how he suggested simply taking each other’s photo and sketching it out instead of interacting with each other. Peter never cared for the cruel words he spoke to Felix until the boy disappeared from his life. From then on till the end of time, that would be the last image Felix would have of Peter.

 _No, not again. Never again_. Peter turned back to his agenda, taking a pen and circling February 15 th; death day. The day Peter couldn’t afford to make mistakes on. _One month or two months later?_ When did they find Felix’s body? Peter tapped at his forehead with his pen, unable to remember the exact date. _This was so important,_ had to know that _if_ he failed, this was how long he had before it was too late. If only he had spent more time studying the police reports, if only he didn’t go straight to his father’s. He clicked his tongue tossing his pen onto his desk before stuffing his agenda into his backpack, suddenly feeling something blocking him.

_That wasn’t in there before._

Peter put his agenda down reaching into his bag and retrieving a folder stuffed with papers, far too organized to be his own. His eyes landed on the label and he nearly fainted, “Felix Forrester,” Without any doubt, even before finding the pictures of Felix’s corpse inside, _this_ was the police report he had somehow retrieved from his present time.

Something was happening, twisting time, setting him on the path to _save Felix_.

 

 _April 28 th, _the day Felix’s body was found. Peter scanned the police report: BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA, abrasions around the neck, wrists, and ankles, implying long-term restraint, lack of proper nutrition, torture evident— Peter jerked away, nearly gagging. Tucked away in a far corner of the library before class started, no one could see him quaking in disgust.

Skipping past the details, Peter eventually found what he wanted. He took his agenda out, marking March 7th, the estimated date of Felix’s death based on the autopsy. The knowledge gave Peter no reprieve, on the contrary, he felt like throwing up the toast and orange juice he had for breakfast. Felix was tortured for _weeks_ before finally being beaten to death, dismembered, and thrown into a well.

Peter shut the folder, willing himself to calm down as he sorted through all the information. Felix disappeared after their falling out, no doubt he had gone somewhere that left him alone and vulnerable. If he stayed near Felix, if he kept and eye on him, surely, he could deter his kidnapper from coming close.

The bell rang before he finalized his thought. It didn’t matter; Peter knew his first steps. He could plan out the rest later. He stuffed the folder back into his bag, promising himself to study it when he had free time again. He dashed out from the library, joining the bustling crowd of students and reintegrating himself into high school life.

The crowds of students pushing past him on their way to class was certainly not something Peter missed. He remembered weaving through the crowds with skills honed from years in school. After growing up, he’d grown rusty and found himself shoved and stumbling with every attempt to move forward.

 _High school sucks_ ¸ Peter growled in his head, foot catching on a dropped textbook which sent him sprawling onto the ground. He pushed himself up quickly, firstly to protect his pride, secondly to get out of the bustling crowd. He picked up the textbook he had tripped on noticing the torn corners and worn cover. It looked like it went through quite a bit more than a normal textbook would. He looked forward, catching the eye of someone scurrying to pick up his fallen books, _a lanky, hooded boy with a scar across his face._

Peter was awestruck, face drawn together in shock.

Felix met his eyes, lips pressed together before pulling away and grabbing the textbook in Peter’s hands, “S-Sorry,” He pulled once, brows knitted together when Peter wouldn’t let go. His lower lip trembled, fingers clammy as they brushed against Peter’s hands. Peter didn’t realize Felix was so frail, didn’t realize his skin was so pallid. He certainly didn’t draw him like this, “Can I have my textbook back?” He spoke, voice broken and small.

“Uh,” Peter blinked twice, shaking himself out of his stupor, “Right. Here,” He let go of the book, watching Felix quickly scramble to his feet, stuff his books into his bag, and walk away briskly, fearful of Peter, fearful of his cruelty.

The horrible things he said when paired up with Felix for his art project, the way he treated his once best friend, Peter understood why Felix was so scared of him. He turned to his phone, finding that one picture he had taken of Felix, the one he used to shoddily put together his art project, and found it unbearable to look at. Since Felix’s disappearance, that was the only photo anyone ever had of the boy and Peter deleted it from existence out of guilt.

He slid his phone into his pocket, shoving past students as he chased after his once friend, “Felix!”

The hooded figure froze on the spot, arms stiff at his sides as Peter came around. Felix’s eyes met for his for just a moment before darting to the ground, head bowed to hide himself. He was quiet, but his eyes spoke for him, apologies wailing from them.

“About the art project,” Peter said, bothered by how Felix seemed to crumple the longer he spoke with him, “This whole thing with photos isn’t working for me. Do you want to meet at lunch to work on it?”

Felix didn’t speak. He simply stared, expression stoic but Peter could see storm clouds in his eyes. He was processing this, too wary for his own good, so when his rejection came, Peter was unsurprised, “You can take another picture if you want.”

“Please? It’ll be easier for both of us,” Peter pressed on, seeing Felix waver, knowing that if he kept pressing, Felix would give in.

The lanky boy nodded like a wispy tree blowing in the wind before departing for his class. With the halls cleared out and no one to see him, he reached after Felix, desperate to touch him.

 

Peter was surprised to see Felix at the art room. He figured Felix would’ve shown up late, anything to spend as little time with him as possible. Peter wasn’t sure how to feel about this, the mousy look in Felix’s eyes difficult to look at.

“Hey,” Peter called out, sitting down on a stool across from Felix. He watched Felix retrieve his sketchbook, curiously mostly empty as if it were brand new, “Don’t you want to eat lunch first?”

Felix paused, eyes flickering over to Peter before returning to the page, “I already ate.”

From his frail body and the gossip, Peter knew it was a lie. Peter reached into his bag and took out a box of leftovers from last night, mashed potatoes with gravy and a side of meatloaf, “I had a big breakfast. Do you want my lunch?” Felix recoiled, as Peter expected, so he pushed a bit further, “I insist.”

The food was still warm when Felix opened the container, heat preserved by the lunch box. His mouth was watering at the sight of it, eyes wide and almost desperate as he took the fork attached to the side and nearly wolfed it down. Peter watched on, taking out his sketchbook and starting a sketch in pencil while Felix ate.

“S-Sorry.”

Peter looked up, noticing that Felix had stopped eating and reached for his textbook, “It’s okay,” He said, reaching out to touch Felix’s arm, “Keep eating.”

Felix nearly flew out from his seat at the contact, body flinching violently as if his touch burned. Peter looked on, concerned and frightened, completely unlike how he used to look at Felix, “Why are you doing this?”

Peter hadn’t thought of a decent response to this. He couldn’t tell the truth but how could he explain his bizarre shift in behaviour? _Because I know what happens if I let you die. Because I want to fix my mistakes_ , “I just…” He paused, clearing his throat to buy more time, “I talked with my dad and he told me I should make up with you. We used to be best friends and I want to go back to that or at least get close to it.”

 Peter was confused when Felix’s eyes darted around, searching for anyone looking their way. His eyes settled back on Peter, lips kneading together nervously, looking sick to his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, reaching forward again.

Felix darted back this time, leaping off his chair and backing off, “S-Stop it. Why can’t you leave me alone? Is it that fun toying with me?”

Peter blinked, “Toying with you?”

“Stop playing dumb,” Felix growled out weakly, “I’m not putting up with this,” He stood, grabbing his bag and nearly rushing to the door till Peter leapt in front of him, “Get out of the way.”

“I’m not toying with you. Really,” Peter said, “I just want to talk.”

Felix wasn’t listening; Peter could tell. He shoved Peter aside and marched out. Peter was confused but he slowly figured it out, his memory returning to him in a crawl. The Peter of this time, the high school prep who was loved by the student body, was one of Felix’s many _bullies_. Peter figured it hurt more, seeing someone you were once so close with tormenting you just like the rest.

Peter rubbed at the creases between his eyebrows. To gain Felix’s trust, he had to spend more time with him, convince him that he was sincere but that required Felix to let his guard down, to drop those walls he put in place to block years of relentless bullying. He had an idea, but he figured Felix might hate him more if he went through with it. _But if he could get Felix to trust him_ , perhaps the hatred would be worth it.

“It was your idea in the first place,” Felix choked out, sitting in the art room after school with their teacher at the desk watching them. His brows were knitted tight, furious but hiding near perfectly under a hood and a stoic expression.

“I made it clear that I suggested it so you’re safe, alright?” Peter said, holding his sketchbook out, “Look, I just wanted to talk and you weren’t letting me.”

“Because I don’t want to talk to you,” Felix snapped, arms folded, crumpling in on himself, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but I won’t be a part of it,” He looked to the teacher, standing up from his seat, “I want to switch partners.”

“No!” Peter shouted, bolting up from his stool, surprising both Felix and their supervisor, “I…uh, I mean, we’re a week into our assignment. We can’t change partners.”

The teacher agreed with Peter, handsome and charismatic even if his words were simple. It only infuriated Felix even more as he was forced to sit back down and sulk into a notebook, _not a sketchbook_. Peter hoped he wasn’t making it worse, hoped this was salvageable, “Felix,” He started, lowering his sketchbook, “I want to be friends again. Really,” Felix wouldn’t even look at him, “I know I’ve done some awful things to you and I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just want to be your friend.”

The silence between them was uncomfortable, like a lukewarm smog in the air, not enough to suffocate but enough to irritate their lungs. Felix was unmoved by Peter’s words, still looking sour and broken, using bitter feelings to cover up his vulnerability. He kept checking the time on the classroom clock, biting into his lip before picking up his notebook and starting his first drawing without a single word shared between them.

Peter couldn’t do the same, hope diminishing with every stroke of Felix’s pencil, a weakness in his eyes that made Felix falter at the sight, “How does it feel?” Peter looked to Felix as he spoke, seeing something like faux amusement on Felix’s face, “To reach out, only to be rejected again and again,” His eyes fell back onto the page, continuing to sketch out the contours of Peter’s face.

The rest of their session went by with utter silence. Felix left first, the teacher approving his drawing as a practice sketch and letting him leave while Peter wrapped up his. The sketch he made was awful. Peter blamed this on his body lacking the muscle memory from his adult years, but he knew this wasn’t the only excuse for his dismal performance. Throughout it all, Peter could only see all his mistakes weighing down on him and leading to Felix’s demise.

 _He couldn’t give up._ He’d try again. He’d scheme for the entire night if it meant he could find a way to save Felix.  

 

“Hey dad,” Peter called out, laying facedown on the couch with his feet kicking in the air while Malcolm packed up leftovers from dinner, “How do I make someone like me?”

Malcolm’s eyebrow quirked, looking over his shoulder in confusion, “You’re asking me for advice?”

Peter chuckled, rolling onto his back and throwing one leg over the back of the couch, “Do you remember Felix?”

“Yeah, sure,” Malcolm replied, putting away a plate, “That tall, skinny kid you used to play with. Honestly, I always thought he was a bit weird even as a kid. Like he’d grow up to be a serial killer or something.”

Peter flinched at his father’s usual unfiltered rambling, expression growing sour, “I want to be his friend again.”

“Huh, really?” Malcolm turned off the faucet, wiping off his hands before dropping down on the couch beside Peter, “You barely talk about him and when you do, you’re always ranting about how he creeps you out. Weren’t you on an art project with him?”

If Peter thought back well enough, he could remember coming home ranting to his father, throwing himself onto the couch, complaining about how Felix talked, how he looked, how he smelled, “Yeah. And I said some cruel things to him,” Peter couldn’t remember exactly what he said that past week but he knew it was bad enough to drive Felix off, anything to look cool in front of his friends, “I want to make up for that but he won’t let me close.”

Malcolm reclined in the couch, “I honestly don’t know what to say,” He frowned when Peter’s mood dropped, rolling onto his side to face the couch, “If you tried reaching out and he’s not receptive to it, doing more might make it worse. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

 _To save Felix’s life?_ Peter had only one answer, “Of course.”

It wasn’t just Felix life. Before this revival was triggered, _Malcolm had been murdered_ and shortly after, Peter met the same fate. Peter felt like if he could solve the mystery of Felix’s death, he could save his father as well. That must have been what this _replay_ meant.

He retired to his room early that night, wrapping up his homework quickly and taking his notes from the future out of his bag, laying them out on his desk and going through them thoroughly. He skipped the details of his death, putting everything else in priority before he would let himself get distracted. His fingers stopped on a photo hidden in the evidence section: A metal bat with a dent in the middle and dried blood along it.

 _The murder weapon_ , Peter swallowed, looking at the notes scribbled in by the detectives on the case, “Easton Steel bat. No longer in production after the Easton corporation went out of business ten years back. Usually considered a collector’s item. Worn implies frequent usage with inadequate maintenance,” It was worn, dilapidated, and used as a murder weapon. Whoever owned this bat clearly cared little for it.

Going deeper into the notes, the bat was found in Marilyn Forrester’s car along with tools from her job stained with Felix’s blood. Shortly after, she fled town and was still on the run. Peter remembered _Felix’s mother_ , a harsh faced woman with crooked teeth and a pale complexion. She was a construction worker and would often come home late, leaving Felix to fend for himself after school.

Peter shut his eyes, confused on why he remembered this so well. _That’s right_ , Felix used to bring Peter over all the time after school to do homework, watch TV. Peter was always _bothered_ by Felix’s home; the place was filthy with dust, dirt, and stains all over, but Felix always cleaned up a little spot for them in the living room. He’d always buy a bunch of snacks from the convenience mart on the way over, bundle both up in a nice, fleece blanket covered in stars when it was cold, and despite the uncomely environment, the two always managed to have fun.

There was another memory that came back that caused Peter to flinch. He remembered Felix’s mother coming home early, ranting and loud, grabbing Peter by the collar and dragging him out before shutting the door. The walls were thin and cracked, letting chilly air and sound move between spaces easily. Crying could be heard as well as the sound of skin getting struck. As a child, Peter did the only thing he could think of: _He ran away._

Some time afterwards, when Peter saw Felix again, the boy spoke to him pleasantly in a quiet voice like nothing had happened at all. He never invited Peter over again, no doubt forbidden by his mother.

 _Why did I run? Why didn’t I help him?_ Peter lowered his gaze, turning away from the profile of Felix’s mother. He was a child, afraid and stupid, didn’t want to get involved lest he give up his own simple, happy childhood. He wondered what made them break their friendship after everything that happened. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why him and Felix stopped spending time together,

“Distracted, you’re getting distracted,” Peter grumbled, flipping the profile, going through the remainder of the notes quickly, “Body was discovered by a hiker on the outskirts of town, noticed a smell coming from the well and went to check, went to contact the police but found a cop on patrol on the street and brought her over,” Peter remembered this cop; it was the same ash-haired woman that took over as sheriff after his mother was promoted.

Could he ask his mother to increase patrols around the well? It was entirely possible that the killer planned this well in advance, possibly scouted out the location multiple times to guarantee that no one would be around when he came to dump the body. He doubted his mother would listen to him but that was a start, _right?_

“No, no, no,” Peter mumbled to himself, flipping through the pages once more. He had to do better. The optimal solution was to befriend Felix, earn his trust, then hide him away somewhere until Peter figured out who the killer was. If he could make this viable, this could work.

 _But until then_. Peter shut the folder, closing his eyes and reclining in his chair.

 

**Tuesday February 2 nd, 2010**

It was no good. All the bats at school were wooden. He clicked his tongue, shutting the storage locker and returning to their coach, “Are you sure that’s all the bats?”

“As far as I know,” The lively coach replied, “Some of the students on the team bring their own bats. You could ask them if they might’ve taken yours. What did you say yours was again?”

“Easton Steel bat,” Peter said, “I got it from my dad.”

The coach hummed thoughtfully, looking slightly confused, “Haven’t heard that brand in a while. I used Easton’s back when I was in high school. Easton’s went out of business, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Peter replied, scanning the crowd of students still playing soccer outside, breath hitching when he saw Felix in that crowd, “If you see anyone with that bat, can you let me know? It’s got a lot of sentimental value to me.”

The coach agreed, rambling on about the baseball team. Peter didn’t pay attention, suddenly distracted by _Felix_ breaking off from his PE class, sneaking back inside. He was especially visible in the crowd, the only one wearing track pants and a long-sleeved shirt under his gym shirt. He snuck off from the storage locker, following closely behind Felix and eventually heading into the boys’ locker room. Felix was in such a rush, picking up his regular clothes and his _backpack_ as he went to the shower room.

“You take your bag with you to shower?” Peter asked, startling Felix into dropping his stuff. Without thinking, Peter knelt to help Felix pick up his things, driving the boy to scramble away backwards, “What?”

“Why are you here?” Felix mumbled out, crawling over cautiously before snatching everything into his arms, “Are you following me?”

“I saw you sneaking off,” Peter replied, watching Felix head into the shower room anyway, dropping his bag into a dry corner of the room while he simply stood there and waited by the showers, “I can watch your stuff for you.”

Felix didn’t look at him, “Can you leave?”

Peter wouldn’t move. He remained where he was at the shower, hand out, offering to help him.

“…do you want me to beg? Is that it?” Felix mumbled out, fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt.

“N-no. I just want to help,” Peter said, “I’m not your enemy. Really.”

The look in Felix’s eyes, if Peter could put a word to it, his gaze was _dead_ , “Please leave. I’ll do anything you want,” He spoke, begged, in a broken, little voice, “Do you want me to get on my knees again?”

The emptiness in his eyes was replaced with fear when he heard bustling in the change room, the door swinging open as the rest of his PE class came in. He pushed past Peter, sprinting out while his class stared at him with confusion and derision. Peter followed closely behind, losing him in the hall but quickly figuring out where he went. He opened the bathroom door, stepping in to see Felix rushing to get his clothes on, track pants already switched into worn jeans. He whipped his shirt off, revealing the _bruises_ all along his torso, places where no one would see under his clothes.

Felix knew Peter was there, heard him come in. He didn’t care, yanking his sweater on, grabbing his bag, before trying to rush past Peter. The shorter boy stopped him, both hands against his shoulders as he pushed him back. Peter was taken aback out how easy it was, surprised at how little strength Felix had.

“Move,” Felix mumbled out, pushing and finding no leverage at all, “Please.”

“Can we talk?” Peter said, “I just want to talk.”

“ _No_ ,” Felix choked out, trying to shove past Peter again, “I don’t want to hear it,” He gasped when Peter grabbed his arm, flinching violently and hanging his head.

It pained Peter to do this, to hold him here by force, but he had no other way. Felix was so _resistant_ to him and Peter couldn’t remember why, “I’m sorry. Whatever I did to you in the past few weeks, past few _years_ , I’m so sorry.”

Felix didn’t soften, didn’t seem to be moved at all. He stayed quiet, clinging to the strap of his bag with one hand before speaking quietly, “I’m begging you. I’ll get on my knees. I’ll suck your dick. I’ll do anything you want,” He met Peter’s eyes through shaggy hair and a trembling face, “Please stop bullying me.”

 _I’m not._ Peter released Felix, shocked at the conclusion Felix came to. The frail boy circled around him, giving him much more space before exiting the washroom. Peter flexed his hands, remembering how Felix’s elbow fit so well in just his hand, the bruises all along his torso, the forlorn look on his face when Peter refused to back down.

 _What did I do to him?_ For the life of him, Peter couldn’t remember a thing.

 

“Hey Remy!” Peter shouted across the crowd of students, approaching a tall student he recognized as one of his friends.

The boy with bright red highlights looked to him, puzzled, “Uh, Rufio.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter coughed, “Sorry.”

Rufio narrowed his eyes again as if Peter was speaking nonsense, “You feeling okay?”

Peter blinked, formulating his words carefully, “Actually no. I’ve been getting the worst headaches,” He rubbed at his temples, face pulled together in strain, “Like, I can’t remember anything that happened last week.”

“Well, let’s see,” Rufio lifted his hand, listing things off on his hand, “We got our English summative, football team lost the game on Wednesday, baseball team lost the game on Thursday, really, we’ve pretty much lost every game since we lost Coach Frederick.”

“Right, right, did something happen with… Felix?” Peter asked, confused when Rufio stared at him incredulously.

Rufio let out an awkward sigh before immediately reeling himself in, “I don’t think we should be talking about that.”

“Why? What happened?” Peter muttered, quick, frightened by Rufio’s change in behaviour.

“Peter, you feeling okay?” Rufio asked, honestly puzzled at Peter’s reactions, “Like, you really don’t remember a thing, don’t you? You should get that checked out with a doctor.”

Peter played at a concussion, blinking rapidly, rubbing at his head once more, “Yeah, that’s a blank. What happened?”

Rufio whistled, face wildly amused but also _ashamed_ , “I mean, if you really want to live that again, I think Devin’s still got the video.”

_Video?_

It was no effort for Peter to get the video from his friends when Devin failed to answer. Apparently, they were circulating it around. He pulled up the file, fearing everything that he knew must’ve been on it. What did he do to Felix?

 _“I’ve always dreamt about this,” Felix whispered._ His image was visible from the camera while the other half of the screen looked like it was blocked by a door, _“Always. Always dreamt about you. I’m so glad we could spend time together again. Really, these past few days drawing with you were the best times of my life.”_

_“I like you a lot, Felix,” A voice, smooth and seductive spoke, “Can you get on your knees for me?”_

Peter froze, hearing his own voice. The camera was shaky, clearly from a phone, and looked to be hiding in some sort of closet. He could see himself sitting on the edge of the bed, feet kicking while Felix was kneeling in front of him, taking off his sweater and almost too eagerly taking off his jeans, smiling in a goofy way that Peter could never even imagine on him now.

_Peter couldn’t keep it in, almost immediately bursting into snarky laughter. Felix flinched, hearing others laughing and immediately leaping to his feet, eyes wide in horror as the audience stepped into the room with him._

_“Always dreamt about?” Someone spoke in a faux feminine voice, “What a creep.”_

_“W-What the hell…” Felix gasped out, backing away only to be pushed back into the room by Rufio._

_“Always knew you were a fag.”_

_“Get back on your knees, Felix,” Peter hissed out, “I like you better that way.”_

_Felix was flustered, shoved back and forth till he eventually fell back to the ground, dropping his clothes as he tried to scramble away. When he realized he had nowhere to go, he curled up on the ground, hands over his head, trying to shrink away into nothing._

_Of everyone jeering, laughing, and spitting slurs, Peter was the worst of them all, “Listen to this,” He went through their text messages, scoffing out the most embarrassing of lines. Felix poured his heart out to him and now Peter was reading his words out to ridicule._

_In a burst of anger, Felix charged at Peter, trying to rip the phone out of his hands or do_ anything _but found himself punched in the face. He reeled back, getting caught in a headlock as they all beat him in turn before dragging him out the room and hurling him outdoors into the snow._

_“Where you going to Felix?” Peter shouted, holding his open backpack while Felix scurried away pathetically in the snow, “Aren’t you going to suck my dick?” He reached into his bag, finding what appeared to be a brand-new sketchbook. He pulled the book open, tearing out the sketches Felix had made and threw them into the air, everyone howling and laughing at Felix’s misery._

_The cameraman was hysteric with laughter, “What are you doing now?”_

_Peter was on his phone, mashing away a text message with a wicked smile on his face, “Asking him if he wants to come back to my place to work on our art project.”_

Peter shut his laptop, breath quivering and shallow, a cold sweat through his shirt. The back of his throat was burning; Peter couldn’t stop himself. He fell to the ground and threw up in his wastebasket.

 

**Wednesday February 3 rd, 2010**

_Stop sending that video around._ Peter texted every one of his friends as he ate a bowl of colourful cereal, shutting down any attempt to argue by claiming that the teachers were onto them.

“You want to stay home today?” Malcolm asked, sipping at his coffee, “Heard you throwing up last night. Is something wrong?”

 _Hey man. Devin said he got this._ Peter growled at the text. He shook his head to his father, standing up right away and dumping the milk from his bowl, “No. It’s fine. I’ve got something to do.”

“Whatever you say,” Malcolm called out, watching his son rush to get his shoes on and leave, “Hey, pick up a cabbage or something when you get back! I’m making vegetable soup tonight.”

 

“You snitching on us?” Rufio barked, shoving Felix backwards.

Felix shook his head rapidly, clinging to his backpack till his knuckles were white.

“Hey. Hey. Eye contact,” Devin said, closing in on Felix, breathing in his air till the trembling boy forced their eyes to meet, “Did you tell the teacher?”

Felix shook his head again, eyes drifting away and almost immediately, he was shoved into the person behind him who promptly shoved him forward. He nearly fell, stumbling over himself, “I didn’t,” He spoke, quiet and frail.

“You deserved it, right?” Devin said from behind him, “That’s why you didn’t tell anyone. Say it. You deserved it.”

Weary eyes met Devin’s. Felix’s thoughts blurred just like his vision.

“Stop!” Peter shouted, rushing in, shoving Devin back with an absolute vicious look on his face, “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“He snitched on you,” Devin replied, gesturing towards Felix, “How else would anyone have known?”

“Maybe because you’re a fucking idiot who posted it online. That’s how,” Peter replied, forcing Devin to back down with a harsh look, “And you,” He turned to Rufio, “Do exactly as I tell you to. No questions.”

Rufio was utterly confused, “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been acting strange.”

“I’ve had a change of heart. Let’s go with that,” Peter replied, “I want you to stop bothering Felix. Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him. And I want you to apologize—” He froze, turning around and noticing that Felix had fled while everyone was distracted.

Rufio looked baffled, “You want us to what?” The confusion only grew when Peter walked away briskly calling for Felix, “What the heck is going on?”

“Felix?” He called out, catching the backdoor just closing as he came around the niche at the back of the school. He sprinted after him, opening the door and catching Felix just before he entered the music hall, “Hey!” He shouted, grabbing Felix’s shoulder and turning him around, “Where are you going?”

“To class,” Felix mumbled out, eyes once again not meeting his face.

Peter sighed, wishing he could just hold Felix down until he trusted him but he figured that would’ve be counterproductive, “What I did to you last week,” Felix’s eyes shut suddenly, as if suddenly pained, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I understand if you don’t want to trust me anymore after that. I wouldn’t trust me anymore after that. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Why do you want to do that?” Felix asked.

Peter wished Felix didn’t ask that. Because he came from the future where his life was miserable? Because he was fixated on Felix’s death right to the bitter end? There was no answer Felix would be happy with, “Because I want to help you.”

“Then leave me alone,” Felix whispered, stepped past Peter and leaving the hallway.

 _What was it like to live Felix’s life?_ Peter spent his morning classes thinking about Felix, thinking about how someone could be so resistant to trust, resistant to help. Peter only contributed to this, preying on his weakness for his own amusement. Even now when he thought back to that video, Peter couldn’t imagine why he ever let such a sick, humiliating joke even exist in his mind.

_I’ve always dreamt about this._

His heart, Peter played with his heart and that made all the difference. Felix would never open it up ever again. If only he came back to this world a week earlier before he broke Felix’s heart.

The bell broke Peter’s concentration. He lifted his head, checking his schedule on his agenda and realizing that he had Art next. This was the only class he shared with Felix, the only time in class where he’d have the chance to speak with Felix. Felix would reject him; Felix would despise him, but Peter had to give it a chance.

The teacher had declared it a studio day, letting everyone work on their art summative. As per the norm, everyone spent most of their time chatting away and relaxing. Peter looked up from his oil pastels, remembering how he abandoned Felix as well, preferring to spend his time flirting with a couple girls instead of working on his assignment. Peter figured he would have failed his assignment had Felix not gone missing, giving Peter a free pass for bereavement even though he shared little to no interactions with his partner.

His attention immediately snapped to the door when Felix came in, a dark shadow amidst paints and pastels. Peter smiled to him, waving him over and flinching when Felix stared at him like he was a maniac. He swallowed his fear, hiding his face with his hood as he sat in front of Peter, clinging to his bag stupidly.

“Hey,” Peter called out, flipping to a fresh page on his sketchbook, waiting patiently for Felix to do the same, “How was your day?”

Felix didn’t respond, eyes flickering over to the teacher and immediately tearing away when the teacher looked to him. Peter didn’t understand at first until Felix reached into his bag and took out _notebook paper_. Peter wanted to kick himself hard: He ruined Felix’s sketchbook and Felix was too afraid to get another one.

“Here,” Peter called out, tearing out a good chunk of his sketchbook and handing it to Felix, “Use this.”

Felix was shaking his head, “No. It’s fine.”

“Come on, you’ll get in trouble if you’re not using the right paper,” Peter said, sticking the papers into Felix’s hand, “Just take them.”

Meekly, Felix took the papers and stuffed them into his bag, retrieving one to start his sketch in absolute silence. His fingers were shaking. His gaze was unfocused. He was _terrified_ just from sitting next to Peter. This wasn’t the face Peter wanted to draw. It just wasn’t right.

“You can go talk to your friends if you want,” Felix murmured, not even looking up, “It’s okay.”

Peter spoke, silver-tongued words coming out without any thought, “I am talking to my friend.”

The lead on Felix’s pencil snapped off. Peter hadn’t realized he was holding it with such force. His breath was shaky as he spoke, a pathetic look on his face as he met Peter’s eyes, “Do you want me to kill myself? Is that what you want? Is that why you won’t leave me alone?”

The world went silent. Peter couldn’t move.

“I’ll do it. If it makes you happy,” Felix choked out, voice louder, uncaring that everyone had stopped to listen to them, “I’ll do it,” He said again, lips pressed tight together, his whole body shaking, “If that’s what it’ll take for you to stop.”

_No, no, no, no, no!_

“Felix, this is inappropriate behaviour,” The teacher spoke, “Go to the front office this instant.”

Peter’s eyes flickered to the teacher, “He’s crying out for help and you’re punishing him? Fuck right off,” His fury was cut short when Felix fled from the art room, “W-Wait!” Peter shouted, grabbing his bag to chase after him only for the teacher to stop him.

“You too. Report to the principal’s office right now,” The teacher snapped, personally leading him out of the room.

Felix didn’t go to the office. He fled, as everyone expected. Peter remained in the office though, snarling under his breath as he waited for the teacher to tell his side of the story, no doubt villainizing Felix and Peter at the same time. His father came in shortly after, hearing the principal’s complaints and eagerly playing along, pretending to accept everything to speed up the ritual and get them both home.

“I know this is a little inappropriate, but your vice principal is devastatingly beautiful. I mean _damn_ ,” Malcolm said, driving home with Peter in the passenger seat, “What happened anyway? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Peter snorted, expecting this from his father, “Felix and I got into a bit of a fight.”

“Ah, of course,” Malcolm said, “Why didn’t he get into trouble?”

“He did. He just ran off,” Peter replied.

“Makes sense. Not like his mother would care,” Malcolm replied, turning down a smaller street, “You want to go for pizza? I like pizza.”

Of course his father would be rewarding him for picking a fight in class, “Yeah, why not?” Peter paused, thinking back to what his father said, “You know Felix’s mother?”

“She’s a right bitch, that one,” Malcolm replied, his accent suddenly heavy, “When I took you under my custody, she’d keep coming to my convenience store and talk about how I’d get child welfare now, telling me to milk you for all that’s worth,” He stopped at a light, looking over to Peter thoughtfully, “You know, when you use to go over to Felix’s to play, I was always so worried. Thought she might do something to you, trade you in for coke or something. Crazy bitch.”

“She was never there when Felix brought me over,” Peter replied, figuring that Felix purposely planned their playdates to avoid her.

Malcolm hummed, curious but he seemed to understand, “Makes sense. I didn’t think she’d let anyone over. I mean, if you saw something over there and told your mum, she would’ve been charged for sure.”

Peter wondered what would have happened if Felix’s mother was removed from his life. Would they have continued being friends or would Felix have grown past him? “Hey Dad.”

“I love this part. You always ask for advice after ‘Hey Dad’,” Malcolm said with a chuckle, briefly looking over at Peter with a smug look before returning his eyes to the road, “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you think Felix’s mother could kill him?” Peter asked.

Malcolm’s brow lowered, eyes narrowing in confusing, “Uh, well. I mean, she’s a bit of a psycho. Sure? I don’t really know,” He paused suddenly, hands tensing on the wheel, “Yeah. She could.”

“What?” Peter said, catching his father’s quick change in tone.

“It was something I heard about from the other parents when you were younger. Apparently, one of them found Felix wandering in the street in the dead of winter, no jacket, fingers and lips blue. She claimed that he snuck out and got lost,” Malcolm shook his head, lips curled in disgust, “I don’t think so. No one else did. She locked him out in the winter and he almost froze to death.”

Peter couldn’t remember this at all, “When did this happen?”

“Sometime before kindergarten. Your mum answered the call when it happened. It’s why Felix was at your kindergarten in the first place. Your mum transferred him in to keep an eye on him,” Malcolm replied, parking the car in front of a pizza joint, “Anyway, I’m thinking extra large, extra meat,” He said, snickering to himself as he stepped out of the car and entered the restaurant.

Peter remained in the car, checking his phone and deleting threatening messages from Devin. If Peter couldn’t approach Felix, he could hunt his murderer instead. The police report was sure it was his mother. That was a start.

 

**Thursday February 4 th, 2010**

His next art class with Felix would be tomorrow. He could try following him around again but that already proved ineffective. His actions would only drive Felix to hide himself which would only make it harder for him. If his actions ever drove Felix to kill himself, Peter would never forgive himself. Even with this conviction, Peter couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering when the lanky, hooded figure moved past the students, towering over everyone yet appearing like a shadow under their feet.

_You’re different man. Everyone’s confused._

Under his textbook, Peter read Rufio’s text. He shook his head, lifting his book slightly as he texted him back. _Call it an epiphany._ He glanced over his shoulder, looking around to see anyone watching him. _I want everyone to stop bullying Felix._

_Seriously? You’re the one who started it in the first place._

Peter paused, hesitating to respond. He shut his eyes, thinking back. Felix was once his friend; they were inseparable. After that incident with his mother, Felix stopped inviting him over and after a while, they fell out. Felix should have been a non-entity to him but Rufio was correct. After Peter made his strides in school, Felix became his victim. He never confronted him face-to-face; he’d tell rumours, call him cruel names, slowly turn the student body against him. Felix was a recluse, shy more than bitter, so he never had any chances to refute his sadistic gossip.

_I’ll tell the boys. They’re all gonna be real curious though._

Peter blinked out of his thoughts, looking back at the phone and sighing with relief. At least something would come easy.

There was an acceptable amount of crazy Peter was willing to go through to save Felix: Stalking him home was part of that. Keeping a good several feet away, Peter followed Felix out of the school after class ended. He had headphones on which was all the better for Peter. He figured Felix wouldn’t be able to hear him from this distance, but any sort of extra security was good.

Something was incorrect, however. Peter had been to Felix’s apartment many times and he figured his mother wouldn’t have the money to move out. Felix had missed that stop on the train, opting to go a bit further out of the city. Peter followed him regardless, finding himself in the warehouse district. Peter swallowed, remembering his father’s rumours around here of hard drug dealers, gangbangers, all unsavory characters to minors. Malcolm should know; he was once a part of it all, parading down this district like he was the king of the world. The City Redevelopment drained this district of its value and left buildings to rot into shambles.

Peter shivered as he followed Felix down an abandoned commercial area, passing by a single convenience store that looked like it was barely kept afloat by the stragglers hanging around. Felix had taken his headphones off, Peter noted, no doubt to stay alert. He thought to lengthen the distance between himself and Felix but found himself stuck where he was in fear. If something were to happen to him, if he cried out, would Felix help him? Peter doubted it.

Their destination appeared to be an abandoned school. From the faded colours on the stone walls, Peter figured it might’ve once been beautiful but ended up swallowed by the rapidly changing economy. Felix climbed through the front gate, heading around to the side to what seemed to be a playground. Peter stayed in the front, watching carefully as Felix lifted a stone and retrieved what appeared to be a _bulging paper envelope_. Peter fled when he saw Felix coming back to the front.

 _A dead drop!?_ Peter had only seen these sorts of things in movies. He followed closely again, eventually ending up at what appeared to be an abandoned mattress factory, remnants of a church, and finally, a dilapidated fire hall before turning back around and returning to the train station. With every stop, Peter watched him retrieve an envelope, sometimes a plastic bag, bulging with something heavy. Felix stuffed all of it into his bag, hauling a good year’s salary on his back.

The station Felix went to next led to what Peter perceived to be a rather rich, lively area, completely unlike where he went to retrieve the money. Peter was astounded. Not even in his wildest dreams, or worst rumours, did he ever imagine this life for Felix but here he was, clearly some delivery boy for a kingpin of sorts. What stunned Peter even more was the _name of the front gate_ of Felix’s destination.

“The Darlings?” Peter choked out, gaping. The Darling Bank was the most powerful family business in the city with a squeaky-clean record and perfect children to go with it. Peter swallowed, wondering if their power came their shady business behind the scenes.

The gate was open; security wasn’t heavy. Peter figured it was because they kept this under wraps so well. He followed Felix, stopping when he saw him ring the bell, flash a card, and enter the Darling estate. _This was stupid_. Peter could get himself killed doing this but he figured getting assassinated by a kingpin disguised as the patriarch to the strongest family in Storybrooke would be a good way to go.

 _…No._ No, it wouldn’t be. Peter blinked twice, realizing what this implied: Felix didn’t go home to his mother. Felix was a delivery boy for what appeared to be some shady operation controlled by the strongest family in Storybrooke _._ Peter paled, the scope of his mission suddenly bloated with uncertainty.

“Oh shit,” Peter said as he circled the estate, trying to look through the windows but not finding Felix in any of them.

Peter nearly leapt into a nearby shrub when the backdoor opened, Felix stepping out casually and entering what appeared to be the guest house without a key. A light went on in the room at the top and from the silhouette, Peter could tell Felix was removing his bag and clothes. In exchange for retrieving dead drops, he was given a home to stay in? That seemed to add up properly, if not incredibly generously.

The light went out. Peter nearly thought Felix went to sleep until he saw the boy step out from the guest house dressed in a beater and shorts. Peter froze at the sight of Felix’s body no longer hidden by a thick sweater, covered in lines of bruises that looked too organized to be accidental.

 “Felix,” Peter choked out, stepping away from the shrubbery, “Felix!” He shouted against his better judgement.

Felix wasn’t listening, face solemn, entering the mansion.

 

**Friday February 5 th, 2010**

“Whoa, whoa, slow down!” Malcolm exclaimed, watching Peter wolf down sausage and eggs, washing it down with a glass of orange juice, “I really don’t think that’ll taste good.”

Peter struggled to swallow, feeling a mound of food squeeze down his throat, “It doesn’t,” He panted, falling back in his seat after the pain passed, “I just really need to get to class.”

“This about Felix again?” Malcolm asked.

“Sort of,” Peter replied, “Art class is first period.”

Malcolm furrowed his brow, “Thought it was last period.”

“The school likes flipping around periods every few weeks,” Peter responded, wiping his lips quickly.

“That sounds silly,” Malcolm hummed, bobbing his head playfully before folding his arms, “Could’ve sworn you’ve never been this excited to see Felix in class.”

“I’ve had an epiphany,” Peter replied, standing up after wiping his mouth, “Going to make up with Felix.”

Malcolm hummed thoughtfully, “Why the sudden change of heart? Every time you’ve spoken about Felix, its either been about how disgusting he is or how awful it is to work with him.”

Peter flinched, his cruel words hurting even himself, “He got into trouble because of me. I don’t want it to get worse. I don’t think I could live with myself if it did.”

“I see,” Malcolm said, standing up and approaching his son before pulling him into a tight hug.

“Wha—” Peter stuttered, looking up at his dad who stared back with a goofy grin.

“Don’t get yourself into danger, okay?” Malcolm said, ruffling his hair affectionately before walking him to the door and handing him his bag, “And ask your vice principal if she’s single. If you get into trouble, tell her it was my idea.”

Peter scoffed with a smile, “As if you’ve got a chance, old man,” He said, patting his father on the shoulder before heading out.

 

Peter learned to stay quiet in art class, simply sitting back and sketching Felix in chalk pastel. With his mind stable, he could carry his skill from the future into this time, his art far more refined than it once was. He finished the piece, using soft colours and gentle curves to make Felix look lighthearted even with his solemn expression. Peter put the piece down, yanking out a second piece of paper from his artbook to start on a charcoal sketch.

Felix glanced upward briefly, “That’s really good.”

Peter nearly missed it. Lips fidgeting when he finally caught it, “I-uh, yeah. Thanks,” He tilted his head upwards, spotting his jagged lines and harsh colours on Felix’s page, “I didn’t think I looked that scary.”

Felix didn’t respond, eyes sad despite the angry lines upon his paper.

Peter had to keep probing, gently, “Do you remember when we used to play together?” He didn’t expect Felix to react, “I’d come over every day after school. We’d do homework then watch some TV. Eat snacks you had for dinner.”

Felix paused, his pencil stopping, “We stole those from the school.”

“Of course, tasted better that way,” Peter said, lighting up when Felix’s lips twitched upwards, “It was fun. I enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t.”

Peter flinched, drawing a suddenly jagged line with his charcoal.

Felix’s fingers began to fidget, the lines on his paper uneven and unruly, “I was just using you. I never wanted to be your friend,” Even though Peter wasn’t as perceptive as his father, he could tell these words pained Felix to say. His eyes were hooded, brows knitted together as if fighting a dull pain inside of him, “It didn’t work.”

Peter paused, having figured out Felix a while ago, “You wanted me to tell my mother what I saw so she’d get arrested.”

It was Felix’s turn to flinch. He bowed his head, trying to hide it under his hood.

“I…figured it out recently when I talked to my dad,” Peter said, trying to shrink himself so he could see Felix’s face, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Felix remained bowed, his drawing hand slowing down till it barely moved.

“I was stupid and young,” Peter said, blowing the excess charcoal off his page before continuing, “Even if you were faking to like me, I owed you enough to say something.”

“Please,” Felix choked out, his voice breaking as he lowered his head even more, “Please stop talking.”

Peter listened this time, giving Felix the peace he deserved as he collected himself and pressed on. He couldn’t see Felix’s face anymore, shrouded under his hood, but Peter figured respecting Felix’s wishes was worth more than working on his assignment.

Peter’s last period was a spare. Last period spare meant his weekend started earlier than anyone else’s. He texted his dad as he stepped onto the train, telling him he’d be late coming back, busy preparing at party for Rufio. With a hood on and eyes constantly searching, Peter stepped off the train and entered the richest district in the city. _No fear_. He breathed in slowly, gathering his courage as he walked briskly down the street towards the Darling estate.

As he expected, the estate looked barren, almost empty. Servants were indoors, their duties either complete or delayed until someone returned from work. He snuck in, peeking through windows, searching shrubs, trying to find anything that would give away their criminal connections. The foreign environment made him jumpy, made him think a security guard would jump out any second and cut his throat for trespassing.

_…Really Peter?_

He had to remind himself that the Darlings were rich but they weren’t _Bond Villains_. Peter stopped by a side window, suddenly hearing his dad snickering at him in his head. He rolled his eyes, a coy remark already on the tip of his tongue but forever silenced when he found a young man staring right back at him in the window.

“ _Oh shit-!_ ” Peter hissed, watching the bespectacled man pull up the window, “Uh, hi.”

The man looked to be just a couple years older than him, no doubt in some fancy university. His hair was finely combed and he wore thick-framed glasses with an expensive looking scrawl on the side of it, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Peter and-uh, I’m looking for—”

“Oh! You must be one of Michael’s friends,” The man said, large smile on his face, “He’ll be so happy to see you. He’s been cooped up in here with the flu for so long.”

Peter blinked, smiling in relief, “Yeah. You’re his… brother, I assume?”

The man extended a hand through the window, “John Darling,” Almost immediately, he pulled it back, “Where are my manners? Here, come inside.”

Peter thought it was too easy, thought ‘John Darling’ would shank him in the back of the head the moment he led him inside. Instead, he found himself sitting in the living room with a cup of tea in hand, waiting for John to return from his brother’s room.

“Looks like Michael’s not feeling too good. You could try again tomorrow if you want. Michael loves talking,” John said, walking over and sitting across from Peter, “Anyway, would you like to stay for dinner? The dinner table has been so utterly drab without my brother or sister around.”

Peter didn’t understand. Every technique his father taught him at analyzing people were either failing hard or unable to find a single bit of suspicion from this _supposed_ human, “Thank you for the offer but I’ve got plans later tonight,” He scanned the room, amazed at the sheer wealth of the Darling family, “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” John said, fixing his glasses and staring attentively at Peter.

Peter paused, hiding himself behind the teacup as he spoke, “Do you know anything about Felix? He’s also a friend of mine.”

“Felix? My father’s assistant?” John responded, “He works part-time for my father. Started about a month ago. Helps him run a couple errands during the day and assists him in his office at night.”

Peter’s fingers stiffened, the teacup almost trembling in his grasp, “Assists in what?”

John shrugged, looking too honest to be lying, “His apprenticeship,” He tilted his head, “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just worried for him,” Peter said, words processing quickly, using truths as lies, “He’s been getting hurt. I want to know where its from.”

John folded his arms, tilting his head back in thought, “As far as I know, Father has him fetch packages in the day. I’m sure it’s just office work at night. I can’t imagine Father doing anything else down there.”

Peter wanted to ask if he could see his office, but he knew he’d get rejected. He clicked his tongue, standing up and wandering casually, pretending to admire the mansion while he looked for anything else that could give him a clue. His eyes caught what appeared to be a sports’ display in the back. He blinked, eerily drawn to it in a rush.

“Ah, that’s my father’s baseball memorabilia,” John said, following Peter, “Are you a baseball fan?”

Peter couldn’t hear John, eyes glued on the metal bat centered in the display, the _Easton_ label polished and perfectly visible upon the metal surface. He huffed, covering his mouth, fighting the urge to throw up at the sight of it. Peter had to go. Peter had to find Felix and tear him away from this, stow him in his home, drive him out of the city if he had to. This was too much for him. He needed to call someone for help. He needed to call his father—

“Welcome back!” John called out, smiling as a grown man with a sleek suit and well-trimmed mustache stepped in, “One of Michael’s friends is visiting.”

The man, imposing and tall, eyes round and friendly, contrasting the utterly mysterious smile on his face as he extended a hand, “Nice to meet you.”

Peter was shocked, but he wasn’t defeated, not yet. He swallowed his fear, masking it as shyness, and took the man’s hand, “Peter Banning,” He said, smiling weakly when Mr. Darling laughed heartily.

“No need to be nervous. I won’t bite,” He said, chuckling as he turned to his display, “I see you’re admiring my display. I adore baseball, something the rest of my family doesn’t appreciate,” He said, jokingly nudging at his eldest son’s arm, “Do you like baseball?”

The simple association with Felix’s demise was enough to make him swear off it but Peter didn’t let the truth slip through, “Yeah. I follow it.”

“I like you already then,” Mr. Darling said, giving Peter a friendly yet heavy pat on the shoulder, “This bat here is my prized possession. See that,” He pointed to the handle, “Signed by Cal Ripken Jr!”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Peter said nervously, hoping his utter _bullshit_ could pass off as bashfulness.   

Mr. Darling didn’t speak. He simply stood where he was, smiling and jolly in posture while his son prattled on about his day. Peter blinked, heart stopping when Mr. Darling’s gaze drifted to him and hardened for just a second.

Beyond any doubt, the Darling patriarch had seen through Peter.

It was too dangerous. _He had to get out._ And he nearly did, excuse already on his lips until the front door opened, maids letting Felix in. Mr. Darling tore away, going to his ‘assistant’ and leaving his oblivious son behind. Peter immediately ducked out of sight, watching through a glass case as Felix took similar packages from his backpack and handed it to the older man. The imposing man laughed and _stroked_ Felix’s head. Peter swallowed, watching Felix bow his head and tear away, making a beeline for the back door.

With a quick goodbye to John and his father, a wish for good health to his ‘friend’ Michael, Peter slipped out the front door and quickly circled to the back. The guest house was unlocked, just as he saw from yesterday. He snuck his way up, remembering exactly where Felix’s room was. The door was ajar; Peter could see Felix changing his clothes from inside, completely uncaring of anyone that might walk by. From where he was, he could see it: Bruises all along his torso, the back of his legs, some in even patterns with distinct shapes, others littered all over.

Against his better judgement, wrapped up and obsessed with the map of suffering drawn over Felix’s body, Peter pushed open the door and stepped inside. Felix hadn’t noticed him; he still had a chance to leave but Peter couldn’t move from where he stood, watching Felix don the same outfit he wore yesterday, staring out the window with an empty look on his face.

 _“Felix_.”

The lanky boy froze, fingers trembling violently. Felix gasped, whipping around. His flinch was nearly a leap, “P-Peter?”

Despite everything he’d been through today, Peter realized this was the most terrifying moment of them all. His lips were moving but nothing was coming out, too busy trembling at the weight of what was happening.

“Wha-what are you…” Felix trailed off, eyes suddenly losing focus and searching the room, delirious in fear, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening,” He trampled past Peter, searching the shelves frantically, panicking harder when he couldn’t find anything out of place, “Where are you hiding it?”

The question woke Peter from his stupor. He thought about it briefly, quickly realizing what Felix was looking for, “There’s no camera. I came here on my own,” He stepped in front of Felix, hands up in supplication, “Felix, please, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Felix barked, looking feral with rage, grabbing Peter by the shoulders and heaving his entire body to pin the smaller boy to the wall, “Why are you here?”

Peter shivered, frightened with the aggressive side of Felix, bewildered that this was the same boy that cowered at everyone at school. He swallowed, finding his strength to push back, reversing their positions and immediately pinning Felix to the wall. His switch in personality still did not change Felix’s miserable physical strength. The mousy look returned on Felix’s face. His fingers trembled but he quickly clutched them into fists to hide it. Peter could feel his heartbeat through his wrist, could feel it slowing as Felix closed his eyes and willed it.

When he opened his eyes again, the fear and rage was gone, replaced with blankness, “Why are you here?” Felix asked, voice quiet and even, in a way Peter never heard.

“You’re getting into something dangerous,” Peter said, letting the image of that wretched bat fuel him, “I’m here to stop you before something bad happens.”

Felix scoffed, whipping his head to the side indignantly, “You’re the one that causes bad things to happen to me,” He hissed out, trying to hide the fact that he was struggling to absolutely no avail.

Peter couldn’t help but think how _easy_ his kidnapper must’ve been able to overpower him. Peter released him slowly, backing up so he was situated right in front of the door. Realizing his situation, Felix sat back down on his bed, huffing loudly as he stared out the window.

“Whatever you’re doing with Mr. Darling, it’s dangerous,” Peter said, unable to stop himself from scanning Felix’s body, “Look what he’s done to you.”

“There’s a reason,” Felix said, not looking at Peter, “And we aren’t doing anything strange. I’m just his assistant.”

Peter huffed at his response, nearly laughing, “Explain why you’re dressed that way. Go on, give me a good reason,” Felix couldn’t say anything. There couldn’t possibly be a way to explain this in a reasonable manner, “Exactly.”  

“Just say it,” Felix choked out, hands fisted on his knees, eyes firmly on the window.

Peter raised a brow, confused, “Say what?”

“Call me a queer, a fag, _a whore,_ whatever you want,” Felix struggled to say, hanging his head. His eyes were shut, his breath shallow, so desperate to keep his composure in front of his worst bully, “Get it over with.”

“No,” Peter replied, “Never again. I promise,” Lowering himself to one knee, he waited till Felix turned his way and met his eyes, “I’m not here to hurt you. I want to help, really.”

Felix was always taller than Peter, even as a child, but this was the first time Peter honestly felt smaller as he stared up at his once friend. It didn’t last, the tall but frail boy getting to his feet and heading to the door slowly, “Mr. Darling is waiting for me.”  

“I’ll be here,” Peter said, stopping Felix briefly before he stepped out, “I’ll wait,” Even though Felix said nothing as he left, the air between them seemed to have softened. Peter sighed, sitting on the carpet by the bed, fulfilling his promise.

The guest room wasn’t big. It looked to be more like a servant’s quarters more than anything. The bed took up a good chunk of the space, facing the door and decorated with decent quality bedding. Across from the bed was a desk with textbooks stacked upon it along with what appeared to be library books. The stack was big; Peter didn’t know Felix was such an avid reader. Felix had no friends, no clubs, no hobbies. He figured this was how he spent his free time.

Peter finished up the extra leftovers he had packed for his lunch. He figured he’d be hungry in the middle of the night but it was better than nothing. He wondered if Felix had time to grab dinner as well but judging from his frailty, he figured not.

There was a dresser beside the desk made of simple wood with a duffel bag sitting at the base of it and nothing hanging. Peter could see a couple sweaters poking out. It was the only thing Felix ever wore. Peter figured it was because it helped him hide. Peter couldn’t help but realize how _miserable_ Felix truly was, living in a borrowed space, all his belongings fitting in a single duffel bag, no friends but the characters from library books, _getting mercilessly tormented by a former friend at school._ Peter rubbed at his temples, overcome by a terrible headache.

The door opened, nearly startling Peter off his chair. He hadn’t even realized the sun had gone down, having sat there for hours searching the room and playing on his phone. Felix stepped in slowly, hair wet and clothes slightly damp. He ignored Peter, taking the towel around his neck and scrubbing it against his head. Peter’s eyes were searching as he continued, seeing fresh marks over the top of his arm, the back of his knees, only places that weren’t visible with his clothes on.

“Could you…not?” Felix mumbled.

“Uh, s-sorry,” Peter stuttered, looking away while Felix changed into a worn shirt and cotton shorts. He kept his eyes on the ground, waiting for Felix to retrieve a book from the desk and sit on the bed across from him before lifting his gaze again, suddenly focusing on the movie decal on Felix’s shirt, “I had a Zombieland poster back in my apartment,” Felix’s brow lowered, gaze confused till Peter realized his mistake, “I mean, my room.”

Felix didn’t look amused, not even in the slightest. He played with the dog-eared edges of the book, finger tapping against the cover as he considered his options for tonight. He could read a book he had read a hundred times or he could be making conversation for the first time after sunset. He sighed heavily, hating his weakness, “What do you want to talk about?”

Peter perked up, lifting his head from his phone, “Well, I… um. To be honest, I was expecting you to shut me out again. I didn’t plan for this at all,” He corrected himself quickly when he noticed Felix returning to his book, “I did want to speak though.”

“If you’re wondering what I’m doing with Mr. Darling,” Felix started, “He’s training me to be his assistant. That’s all. Whatever you think is happening, it’s not, okay?”

“Why’s he beating you?” Peter asked, still staring at the fresh bruises on Felix’s arm.

Felix didn’t seem to mind his question at all, saying back simply, “I’m used to getting a beating,” His expression went bitter when Peter looked at him with concern, “I thought you’d know all about that—”

“I should’ve said something when I met your mother,” Peter said quickly.

“—You’re the one who caused the worst of it,” Felix finished, eyes filled with fury for a second before drifting back to his book, “So stop making a big deal about this.”

If Peter thought back hard enough, he could remember the months, _the years_ , before this week, all the abuse he rained on Felix just because he was strange and vulnerable. Peter bit his lip, cursing himself for forgetting. Felix was murdered but Peter had been killing him slowly for years.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, “For everything I’ve done to you. I’m so sorry.”

It was too late. Felix was already too numb to feel the sentiment, “If you’re sorry, then leave me alone. That’s the best thing you can do for me right now.”

“I want to make it up to you,” Peter said, trying not to sound desperate.

“There’s nothing I want you to do,” Felix replied, knees coming up as he draped his arms around them, “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

This was what Felix wanted, what would make him happy, but Peter knew this wouldn’t save him, “I can’t sit back and do nothing. That’s not the person I am,” He sprung to his feet when he saw the pained look on Felix’s face, the same face that begged him to stop and threatened to kill himself to get away, “Don’t. Please. I don’t want to hurt you or humiliate you. I just want to help you. I want to make you _happy_ and-and…” Peter trailed off, intrigued and flattered by the look on Felix’s face, a mix of shock and what seemed to be endearment.

Peter figured it out quickly. He looked to the ground, realizing he had _fallen to his knees_. He composed himself, quickly changing his tone, “This time, I’m begging you,” He said, ironic smile on his face as he lowered his head, bowing to Felix, “Please don’t push me away.”

Felix couldn’t speak but he was shifting around in his bed. Peter so desperately wanted to lift his head and gauge Felix’s reactions but opted not to, keeping his head bowed. He heard Felix put the book down, stretching out over the bed.

“It’s getting late,” Felix muttered quietly, breathing in slowly, “…Do you want to stay the night?”

 Peter sat up immediately, big smile on his face, “Sure!” He said, scrambling up and sitting on the edge of the bed, “It might be a bit cramped though, won’t it?” The flushed look on Felix’s incredulous expression was worth it, “Kidding, kidding,” Peter said, stealing a set of bedding from under the bed, “I’ll take the floor.”

Felix watched him set up his bed, stared at him like he was having difficulty understanding what was going on, “You’re different,” He said, unable to believe that Peter could make such a sincere smile.

“You have no idea,” Peter replied, laying down on the floor, staring out the window so he could watch the stars till Felix fell asleep.

 

**Saturday February 6 th, 2010**

It was an awful night. Peter couldn’t lie. The floor was unfeeling, sheets too thin, but Peter forced himself to stay. Felix finally gave him a chance, possibly his last chance to save him given how reluctant Felix was. He woke up just as the sun was rising, hearing the birds outside, and lay there for a good couple of hours. Peter peered up over the bed, watching Felix sleep peacefully. Even when unconscious, the boy looked so _disturbed_ and weary.

Peter rubbed his stomach briefly, feeling the slightest rumble of hunger. Distracting himself, Peter took the police report out from his bag, digging it out from under his math notes. With the knowledge of Felix’s involvement with the Darling family, Peter combed through the notes for anything that would implicate them. Felix’s mother would’ve be easy to frame, especially with the Darlings’ connections.

 _The baseball bat._ Last night, beyond any doubt, Peter was convinced that Felix was murdered by Mr. Darling’s bat. In retrospect, Peter realized that this was _impossible._ The bat in the report was listed to be worn, uncared for, while Mr. Darling prized his collector bat, and no where in the report mentioned a signature anywhere. Even if he removed it, it still would have left a trace. Perhaps he had other bats, some less valuable to him?

Peter checked the date on his phone. He had little more than a week to save Felix. All things considered, Peter would consider this a success so far. He’d gone from being Felix’s most hated enemy to neutral acquaintances, at least. If he kept this up, he could surely succeed. He propped his head onto the bed, staring at Felix before shutting his eyes, sorting through the memories of his first life.

The day Felix disappeared, he was thanking Peter, _wasn’t he?_ Peter could remember it, the chill in the air, the darkness in the sky from staying late to work on their project. Even after everything Peter put him through, Felix’s time with him was precious. Peter opened his eyes, expression softened, realizing that even after everything, Felix still wanted his company.

Felix’s eyelids fluttered, his fingers clenching in the sheets as he opened them, meeting Peter’s eyes. In the delirium of sleep, Felix found himself _smiling_ at the sight of Peter. Peter nearly smiled back, nearly spoke, till Felix blinked back into reality and the look on his face _died_ right away. He shifted backwards, sitting up and furrowing his brow, holding his knees to his chest.

“Good morning,” Felix mumbled out, keeping his gaze firmly away from Peter.

“Morning,” Peter said, lifting his head from the bed, “Sorry. My neck was sore.”

“Mm,” Felix hummed, simply waiting on the bed.

The air was too awkward even for Peter and his silver tongue. Instead of making conversation, Peter took the police report and stuffed it back into his bag, “Do you want to pick up breakfast? My treat.”

Felix shook his head, “No time,” He said, rubbing at his stomach absently at the thought of eating, “I’ve got things to do.”

“More things for Mr. Darling?” Peter inquired, seeing Felix’s eyes gloss over, “You’ll be able to do it better on a full stomach.”

“It’s just delivery,” Felix said, lifting the blanket and stepping off the bed.

Unable to stop himself, Peter reached forward and took Felix’s wrist gently. Felix stiffened, looking pained as Peter held him. Peter paid it no mind, too concentrated on the ridged skin on top of his wrist. It looked like it was made from a reed of sorts, something thin and hard rapping on his skin. It was punishment for _something_ , just like the rest of the bruises on Felix’s body.

“How do you hide this at school?” Peter asked.

“Sweaters,” Felix mumbled out, pulling his wrist away and reaching for a fresh set of clothes in his duffel bag.

Despite the answers, Peter knew he was being shut out. He followed Felix to his feet, “After your delivery, do you want to do something together?”

“I’ve got homework,” Felix murmured, pulling a sweater over his head and smoothing out his hair. It had turned into a mess in his sleep, shaped by the leftover moisture in his shower.

“I do too. Let’s work on it together,” Peter said, swallowing when Felix suddenly glared at him, “I just—”

Felix looked away, never able to hold his anger for more than a moment, “Okay.”

“Rise and shine!” John said, barging into Felix’s room without any care for his personal space, a plate of miscellaneous breakfast foods in hand, “Thought you’d want a snack before you went out,” He said, bright look on his face, “Peter?”

Felix narrowed his eyes, confused. Peter coughed loudly, given him time to formulate an excuse, “Ah, hi John. Good morning to you,” He said, “We were talking last night and it got a bit late so I stayed over,” He looked to Felix, a smile on his face, trying to coax him to join in his half-lie, “Right, Felix?”

Without looking at him, Felix nodded.

“You should’ve told me. We would’ve gotten you a room in the guest house,” John said, chuckling as he placed the plate onto the desk, “You should join us for breakfast. Michael’s feeling better and he could really use some company.”

Peter shook his head, “I can’t. I’d be interrupting your—” On cue, his stomach growled. He cursed himself immediately for not packing enough food for last night, “Um.”

John already broke into a hearty laughter, “Come on. Don’t be shy. My parents will be elated to have you with us. My dad was already really fond of you.”

“Oh, really?” Peter said, feeling dread at seemingly innocent words, “Sounds… good.”

It was too early to ask for Felix’s help in this, anything to save him from this breakfast where his lies would be caught for sure. Peter had tried to prepare for this last night, looking up Michael Darling on social media to see which group he could blend into. The only thing he could find was a photo of him in an old lacrosse team, at least three years back. There was something familiar about Michael that Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on, like he’d seen him in the past before. Perhaps they really did go to school together before Michael was whisked away to some private school.

Peter had little time to think, shepherded into the dining hall where a plethora of breakfast foods lay. John circled the table to the two women at the table. One appeared to be their mother; the other looked to be his sister, “This is my mother and this is my sister, Wendy,” John said, ruffling Wendy’s hair affectionately before returning to Peter’s side, “This is Peter. He’s a friend of Michael and Felix.”

 _He referred to Felix_. Interesting. So, Felix wasn’t some private pet project of his father’s. It didn’t explain why he wasn’t invited to the table though.

“Nice to meet you, Peter,” His mother greeted, “Michael so rarely has friends over.”

“Ah, yeah,” Peter said, “I heard Felix was here too so I came over to visit.”

Wendy looked to him, hands folded neatly on the table, “How do you know Michael?”

“Lacrosse team,” Peter said, sitting down, gauging whether Wendy was questioning him out of curiosity or malice. _No matter_ , Peter knew how to proceed from here, “He never told me he had a sister though.”

“He’s very protective,” Wendy said, pouring syrup over her pancakes, “He doesn’t want any scoundrels knowing my name,” She said, all smiles, eyes half-lidded.

“I’d hardly think I was a scoundrel,” Peter repeated, leaning forward, a devilish smirk on his face, “Unless you want me to be.”

John was stuttering, red in the face, “Wha—Mum, stop them!”

Mrs. Darling was chuckling on the side, utterly amused by her children, “Now, now, Wendy. Don’t ruin your brother’s day,” She swept a couple sausages onto her plate, snacking on them lightly while watching Peter with amusement.

Really, Peter knew he was too handsome for his own good. He thanked his father.

“Ah, Peter! Nice of you to join us again,” Mr. Darling said, coming down the stairs and joining his family at the head of the table, “Just went to check on Michael. He should be good to resume his training for the rest of the day.”

_Training?_

“He’s just getting better,” John said, cutting into his pancakes, “Give him a break.”

“Michael’s resilient,” Peter quipped, “I’m sure he can take it,” His statement seemed solid, both John and his father acknowledging it before continuing with their debate.

If he hadn’t known the secret of the Darlings, Peter would have suspected nothing from this family. They were the picturesque depiction of a perfect family, strong father, kind mother, two siblings prattling through banal topics. It was utter _torture_ for Peter, putting up his act, hoping they would let him go so he could wait for Felix back at the guest house. At the very least, the food was quite nice.

John turned, hearing creaking at the stairs, “Michael! How are you feeling?”

Peter stiffened, nearly choking on the hash browns in his mouth. He washed it down with orange juice, keeping his face hidden behind it as everyone turned to the figure coming down the stairs.

“Like shite,” Michael replied, reaching the bottom step.

“Language!” Mrs. Darling quickly quipped.

“Peter’s here to see you,” Wendy said, looking to Peter briefly with a kind smile.

Peter’s perfect mask almost faltered. He placed the glass down, confidence in his stride as he stood from his seat, “Good to see you—” He stopped, eyes wide, smile falling, mask shattering.

Everyone at the table was confused, especially so Michael Darling, who stared at Peter with _round, dark eyes and a face that looked soft and almost youthful._ Peter stood, backing up, voice caught in his throat like a heavy lump. His murderer, his father’s murderer, was Michael Darling.

“Peter?” John said, scanning his family for reactions.

Michael was the first one to break the sudden tenseness, “Ah, Peter!” He said, shaking Peter out from his stupor, “Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, clearing his throat, ignoring the sweat soaking him slightly, “Good to see you again,” Michael was playing along but Peter wasn’t sure why, “Mind if I talk to you about something? I came yesterday but you weren’t feeling well.”

The middle brother sniffled as he nodded, “Sure. Let’s chat in the lounge.”

Almost too eagerly, Peter left the Darling breakfast, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Shutting the door behind him, Peter had another dilemma right before him. _Michael Darling was his killer_. How was he involved in this? Was he even involved with Felix’s death or was his murder of Peter and his father completely unrelated? There were too many questions, too many complications, but Peter had to get through them, had to fulfil his promise.

“Why did you—” Peter choked on his voice, fingers still trembling.

Michael looked to him, puzzled, before entering the lounge and dropping himself off on the couch, “You know Felix, right?” He folded his arms, “He mentioned a ‘Peter’ before. Didn’t think you’d be showing up here.”

 What Felix said about him must’ve been bad but it shortened the introductions, “Yeah. That’s me. I want to talk about him.”

“About what?” Michael said.

It was the same answer everyone kept giving him, but this was unsatisfactory, “Please. He’s in danger.”

“Danger?” Michael inquired. He gestured to the couch, “Sit. I’m not going to bite your head off.”

 _You will. In the future._ Peter figured his fear looked incomprehensible to Michael. He had no idea of what would become of them. Peter fought through it, biting down on his tongue and sitting across the most receptive of the Darlings so far.

“What kind of danger?” Michael said, leaning forward onto his knees.

“It’s hard to explain,” Peter said, slowly finding himself, “He’s getting himself involved with something dangerous and being your father’s ‘assistant’ may lead to that.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Peter sighed. Having experienced the future didn’t seem to be a reasonable explanation, “I don’t know what it is. All I know is that someone’s coming after him and working for your father may make it worse,” He leaned forward, not realizing that he had shrunk on himself on the couch, “That’s why I need to know what Felix is doing,” He stuttered when Michael seemed to ignore him, standing up and turning around casually before _removing his sweater_ , “What the hell are y—” Peter froze, seeing organized lines of _bruises_ all across Michael’s back, “That’s the same as Felix.”

“It’s training,” Michael replied, turning around and sitting back on the couch. He had marks all along his body, substantially fewer than Felix but still enough to gawk at, “My father needs strong people to work for him, do his field work, so he trains us. Not like my brother though. He only trains people like this if they’re going to be working behind the scenes, so to speak. Couple lashes when we do something wrong, maybe a strike to the knuckles, that sort of thing.”

Felix’s marks didn’t look like punishment, “Felix looked like he was beaten, not trained.”

Michael took his sweater, kneading it in his hands absently, “My father’s not too fond of him. Or perhaps _too fond_ of him. I don’t like to pry into my father’s affairs.”

Peter snarled at his words, “And your whole family just accepts this?”

Michael’s expression twisted into what Peter could only describe as a _cruel look_ , “Our father’s work is important. It is not something you could understand.”

The words sounded like a veiled threat but Peter pressed on regardless, “So, Felix is just exchanging beatings for shelter, is that it?”

“More or less,” Michael replied too casually. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even react when Peter leapt to his feet, his whole posture predatory, “Sit back down. You don’t want to start a fight here.”

He was right but Peter would damn well fantasize about that at home. He took two slow breaths, forcing himself to calm down, pacing when he couldn’t cool off fast enough, “Is there a way to get Felix out of this?”

“My father wouldn’t have told him anything sensitive. He probably picked up a couple packages, but the locations always change. As long as Felix stays out of trouble, he should be fine to go,” Michael said, “But we both know this is not as easy as we think it is.”

“Does he have to cut off a finger or something?” Peter said.

Michael snorted, tossing his shirt on, absently rubbing at his nose, “We’re not the mob. What do you think we’re doing here?” He lifted a hand, “Don’t answer. It’s probably silly,” In response, Peter rolled his eyes, “What’s going to be difficult is convincing Felix to stop.”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s getting beaten for a home,” Peter said, “I can offer him a place to stay.”

“He making something for himself. He’s endured it up to this point. Why turn back now?,” Michael explained, crossing one leg lazily, “Are you going to take that away from Felix?”

Peter was so sure of himself but he couldn’t confirm it, words choking in his throat. _Felix thinks he’s making something for himself_. In a world where everyone has stepped on him, mocked him, Felix was making progress. This was cruel, too cruel, but Peter had to, “Yes. I have to.”

Michael curled his lip, nodding with acknowledgement, “I’ll let my father know. I’m sure he’ll be flexible if I push the right way,” He brushed off his knees as he stood, rubbing absently at his reddened nose, “I’ll be keeping an eye on him.”

The conversation was over. In hindsight, it really had not gone poorly but Peter left in a cold sweat. He had no idea what the cost would be for pulling Felix away from the Darlings. Would something happen to him? To his father? _To Felix_? The ‘field work’ Michael was involved with, the younger brother played coy but Peter know the truth, experienced it himself, a warm knife opening his throat and spilling his blood.

He’s not the mob, right? Peter did the only thing he could think of in a tense situation like this: He laughed, quietly, to himself. He went back in time to seal his fate even further. Peter returned to Felix’s room, figuring he’d be facing hell when Felix learned what Peter had done. He sat upon the chair, feet kicked up on the desk as he looked to his phone and found several texts from his father.

_Where the heck are you!!_

Peter smiled, texting back: _At Rufio’s place. Math test next week._

Shortly after, Malcolm responded: _God. Send me a txt or something. Youll give me a heart attack._

Peter paused, smile dropping as he texted back: _Have you gotten into trouble with the Darlings?_

_What??_

Peter rolled his eyes: _Answer the question. This is serious._

_I use their banks, if that’s what you’re asking._

Right, Peter figured. He bid farewell to his father, putting his phone away, leaning backwards in his chair as he waited for Felix, waited for the explosion.

“What the fuck!” Felix barked, shoving the door open, charging over at Peter and grabbing his collar, “What the fuck did you do?”

“Listen to me,” Peter started, mouth snapping shut when Felix snarled.

“ _Fuck you, Peter_ ,” Felix growled, wanting so badly to shove Peter to the ground but knowing that he’d fail. He released Peter’s collar, turning around and grudgingly packing up his things, stuffing the library books into his bag without any care.

Peter remained sitting, fearing that he burned the only bridge he had managed to build with Felix yesterday, “You were in danger. I had to.”

“Danger? Is that what you’re calling it?” Felix said, the zipper on his duffel bag fighting against him, “Even though you knew I willingly agreed to this?”

Peter bit down on his lip, wondering why whoever broke the news to him had to mention that. Perhaps this was another test, to see how Peter would react when faced with adversity. Or perhaps, Michael Darling was just an asshole, “Michael said his father _enjoyed_ beating you. It was the only way to get him to let you go.”

“I was _happy_ ,” Felix snarled. He gasped, shuddering when Peter reached out and grabbed his wrist tightly, irritating his injuries. Felix snapped away, clutching at his arm, gritting his teeth to endure the pain.

“You weren’t. You were just putting up with it because you thought something good would come from it,” Peter said, trying to soften his voice, “Trust me, nothing good is coming from this. You were just a punching bag or worse, you were his _prostitute_.”

Felix choked out a laugh, dry and mirthless. He turned away from Peter, combing fingers through his knotted hair, “Nothing good is coming,” He choked out, “Maybe I was okay with that. At least I had a home and a _purpose_ ,” He grabbed his duffel bag, rushing out.

Peter followed closely, trying to get a look at Felix’s face, lock with his eyes, reason with him but Felix wouldn’t meet him, lost in fury and grief, “Let’s talk,” Peter said, chasing after Felix’s heels, following his former friend off the Darling estate, “Where are you even going?”

There was nowhere for Felix and Peter knew this. If Peter offered to take him in, would Felix say yes? It wasn’t like he had another choice. This was why Felix chose to ignore Peter, marching off as fast as he could to the train station, anything to get away.

“Let’s talk. Please,” Peter pleaded continuously, his patience starting to grate with every failed attempt, “I’ll hold you down if I must. Don’t make me.”

A strangled sound came from Felix, sounding like a wounded animal. He stopped walking, the train station just in the distance. One hand stayed on the strap of his backpack, the other hanging onto his duffel bag, both white at the knuckles. The anger faded though, wafting away like every other passionate feeling in Felix’s body, leaving him numb, painless. It was a preferable state, a survivable state. His grip loosened; his stature slackened.

Peter sighed in relief, “Are you ready to talk?”

A duffel bag came flying at him instead, striking him across the head. Peter cursed his stupidity, finding himself sprawling onto the ground pathetically. He scrambled backwards when Felix climbed over him, fists coming down, beating him with all his strength. He could hear it, heaving in Felix’s chest with every strike, exhausting himself. He broke off suddenly, panicked, trembling, grabbing his duffel bag and running away.  

Peter hissed under his breath, clutching at his forehead, trying to soothe the swollen spot. He sat up slowly, looking around and not seeing anyone around. He coughed twice, a spot of blood flying from his mouth, before rubbing at his eyes. _One step forward, two steps back_.

 

Peter couldn’t find Felix after. He hoped he was somewhere safe. The most likely place seemed to be back home with his mother but he’d gamble that Felix would rather sleep on the streets than in the same house as that tyrant. He shoved his homework aside after he finished, picking up the half-melted bag of ice his father had given him and pressing it over the awful bruising on the side of his face.

His door opened, “How are you feeling?” Malcolm said, “I don’t have painkillers, but I do have a bit of whiskey. Don’t tell Mom though.”

Peter chuckled, spinning around in his chair, “Looks worse than it is.”

Malcolm sat on his bed, facing him, expression grave, “Felix did this, didn’t he?” Peter pouted, head turned, a telltale sign that he wanted to lie. Malcolm groaned, combing his hands through his hair, “He’s dangerous. Look what he did to you.”

“He was scared and lashing out,” Peter said, keeping his affairs with the Darlings out.

“I’m asking you, Peter, because you are an adult and you can make your own decisions,” Malcolm said, “Please stop concerning yourself with Felix. You’ll get yourself hurt. He’s violent and unstable.”

That same pout was on Peter’s face. He continued to avoid his father’s gaze, “Fine.”

“Please. Don’t make me beg,” Malcolm quickly added, only managing to solidify Peter’s resolve.

Peter shook his head, turning back around in his chair, slapping the bag of ice onto his head, “You’re asking me to abandon him even when he’s crying out for help?”

“It’s not your job to reach out to him,” Malcolm replied, “Leave that for counsellors or correctional officers. Leave that to _adults_ with experience and security.”

“They won’t help him. I know it,” Peter said, folding his arms, “I’m not letting this go. Not until I save him.”

This dismissal in Peter’s face was clear. Malcolm knew his son well enough to know that he wouldn’t change his mind, “Stubborn as a mule,” Malcolm said, standing up, brushing off his knees, “Then you leave me no choice,” Peter’s face immediately soured at his show of authority, “We’re going to see his mother tomorrow. Maybe that’ll open your eyes.”

Peter blinked, his disdain immediately fading, “I… uh, yeah,” He fought the smile when Malcolm ruffled his hair, lips twitching when he saw his father smiling back at him, “T-Thanks Dad.”

“Get some sleep,” Malcolm said, walking towards the door, nodding to his son before exiting.

 

**Sunday February 7 th, 2010**

_Marilyn Forrester_ , the police report had a detailed profile for her. She was foul-mouthed and bitter; there was no shortage of people willing to testify against her, witnessing her open disdain for her son. It made sense that she skipped town when she was pinned for Felix’s murder. There was no one in town that would believe her if she said she didn’t kill her son. Peter mentally skimmed through the report in his head, remembering how Felix’s blood was found on her tools and the murder weapon had been found in her possession

Malcolm parked the car in a dingy, crowded lot, fixing his yellow scarf before turning over to Peter and fixing his scarf as well. Peter slapped his hand away, “Stop that. I got it.”

“Don’t want you to catch a cold. It’s freezing today,” Malcolm said, looking out the window to the rundown apartment complex in front of them, “Looks like a shitty motel,” His head snapped to Peter when he opened the door, immediately reaching out to grab his wrist, “Wait.”

“I’m not staying in the car,” Peter responded. Felix could’ve been in there; Peter had to find him.

“I know that. There’s just something I should say before we go in,” Malcolm said, hardening his gaze, stilling his breath, “You are my son and I will do anything to protect you. If she tries to hurt you, if she even _looks_ at you strangely, know that I will do whatever I can to make her life miserable,” His breath choked, realizing his son had stepped out of the car, “I’m trying to have a heartfelt moment here!”

Peter was snickering lightly as he walked, “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“Really!” Malcolm exclaimed, locking the car and chasing after his son, “Marilyn is not a normal person. I don’t want you getting into trouble with her.”

“I can handle it,” Peter read the police report; he knew what to expect.

The two made their way to the apartment. Malcolm had left a voicemail in the morning, claiming that Felix had assaulted Peter and he was coming over for an apology from her son. Felix’s mother never responded but Malcolm knew she had to be home. Her apartment was connected to the outside. Cheap heating and water pipes wrapped the edge of the door, held together with duct tape and wood. Malcolm paid it no mind, but Peter was cringing at how unsafe everything appeared.

Malcolm pressed the doorbell. No sound came out. Exasperated, he tapped his knuckles against the door, “Marilyn!” He shouted, “I know you’re in there. Don’t pretend,” He waited for a minute but gave in quickly, grabbing the doorknob and jiggling hard, “Marilyn!” He barked, the entire door rattling until it just _popped open_.

Peter was surprised but like before, Malcolm wasn’t. He stepped onto the filthy carpet, pushing aside the takeout boxes that littered the dirty, worn furniture, “Looks the same as always,” Malcolm muttered. Peter reeled at the harsh scent of filth, alcohol, and cheap perfume. He focused on the living room, seeing the spot he once played with Felix now covered in pizza boxes and beer bottles. He wandered over unconsciously, reaching down to touch the strong, wooden coffee table they once used for dinner. It was well-crafted and solid, a bit of goodness peeking out from this dump. Felix lived here since he was young, cleaning up whatever he could to make a good impression for Peter when he came over but leaving just enough so he could be disturbed by what he saw.

The sight of the living room made Peter’s chest ache. He wandered backwards, trying to get away and finding himself struck across the back by a baseball bat. He screamed, tumbling forward while Malcolm rushed in and wrestled the weapon away from his assailant, slamming her into the wall.

“Don’t touch my son, you bitch!” Malcolm growled, sounding inhuman as he hurled the pale haired husk of a woman against the wall of the living room. He immediately came to his son when his attacker was dealt with, helping him up slowly, feeling his back for anything broken, “Are you alright?”

Stunned but not out, Peter nodded quickly, “Just a little sore. Didn’t even go for my head,” His attempted jolly mood died the moment he saw his attacker: A ragged, harsh faced woman with a sour look and crooked teeth. Her hair was the same shade as Felix’s and just as messy, rolling down her shoulders like unkempt hay. Unlike Felix, her eyes were blue, almost beautiful in a disgusting away, unlike the clouded colour Felix’s eyes took on. What stood out the most was her physique: Stocky, strong, _arguably healthy,_ utterly unlike Felix who looked like he’d break at the slightest breeze.

“You’re the one who broke into _my_ home,” Marilyn replied, voice sounding like a shriek.

“I left you a voicemail. You ignored me. You knew I was coming over,” Malcolm replied, folding his arms, “Your son attacked my son yesterday. We’ll settle for an apology unless you’d prefer I get the cops.”

Marilyn scoffed, the sound coming out like a disgusting gurgle, “What is that useless brat getting himself into?” Her eyes scanned over Peter, feeding off his aggression, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

Malcolm blocked his son but Peter charged forward anyway, “You’re exactly what everyone says about you.”

“Like you have any idea what I go through every day,” Marilyn said, pushing past Malcolm’s arm, nearly ramming her face into Peter’s, “You spoiled, little shit. Don’t you dare talk to me like that or else—” She choked, Malcolm’s arm around her neck and hurling her backwards into the wall.

“Stay away from my son!” Malcolm shouted, charging forward.

Marilyn gave in quickly, lifting her hands, “Fine, fine. Back off, _Mal_ ,” She said, a smirk on her face when Malcolm shifting uncomfortably, “What the hell do you want?” She said, reaching into her back pocket for a cigarette, distracting herself.

“An apology,” Malcolm repeated, “From your son.”

“Tough luck,” Marilyn replied, struggling to light the cigarette, eventually taking it out of her mouth and using it as a prop as she gestured, “I haven’t seen that little shit at all. He’d rather be out shooting himself up than living with his dear, old mom.”

 _Anyone would rather live on the streets than be with you_. Peter bit his tongue, letting his father talk it out with Felix’s deplorable mother. Peter remained where he was beside his father but took the time to scan the apartment, taking in all the details. The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, trash building up in unused corners. There was little furniture despite Peter remembering clearly that there was once a TV and a couple stools. It seemed likely they were pawned off for money. He blinked away the uncertainty when he closed in on something tucked behind the couch. Breaking off from his father, Peter circled around the couch, immediately recognizing what he had found: _Felix’s duffel bag,_ the same one he used to attack him, sitting right beside his backpack which was tucked under the couch.

 _Felix was here_ but his mother claimed he was gone. The chills returned to Peter’s blood, hands fidgeting as he fixed his scarf, trying to seal out the cold. He rushed into the back despite Marilyn’s protests, searching the bathroom, the kitchen, and the shitty bedroom that reeked of weed and chemicals.

“Where’s Felix?” Peter said, brow twitching, lip trembling as he eyed Marilyn with all his hate, “Where is he?”

“I told you. I haven’t seen him,” Marilyn said, spitting in his face.

“That’s bullshit!” Peter replied, grabbing Felix’s duffel bag and shoving it at her face, “Felix had this yesterday. He was here. Where is he now?” He shouted, lips lifting to bare his teeth, eyes growing manic, “What the fuck did you do to him?”

Peter reeled when Malcolm suddenly took him by the waist, dragging him out with strength Peter never knew his father had. Peter was growling, struggling like a wild beast, still clutching Felix’s duffel bag as he was thrown out of the apartment.

“That’s enough!” Malcolm shouted, taking his son by the shoulders, “Calm down. This isn’t helping anything.”

“She killed Felix!” Peter blurted out, “He came home and she broke his head open with a bat. That’s why she doesn’t want us around,” All his effort to save Felix, to reach out to him, only managed to drive him to his death earlier, “She’s a murderer!” He sobbed out, almost in tears.

Marilyn was about to speak but Malcolm cut her off, “Take a deep breath. Calm down. Let me handle this, alright?” He remained still, glaring at Felix’s mother any time she tried to step forward and speak, threatening to start a fight right now if need be.

“Like you have any right to be coming into _my_ home and rant about my parenting,” Marilyn said, spitting as she spoke, “After your bitch wife left you, you turned into a snob, suddenly just obsessing over your son, throwing me to the curb after _everything we’ve done together_.”

Malcolm’s attention snapped back to Marilyn, fury evident in his face as he hissed at her, “You know _nothing_.”

Taking in his father’s words, shutting his eyes and counting backwards, Peter let his emotions simmer away while his father distracted Felix’s mother. His heart slowed, his breathing evened. He released Felix’s duffel bag, letting it hang casually from one hand while he pieced his thoughts. Felix went home after their fight. He must have left his bag in the corner, perhaps entered before his mother was home. The moment his mother caught him, it was more likely that she _kicked Felix out_ , forcing him to leave his bag behind.

Peter’s eyes drifted to the bat discarded on the floor, wooden, worn, probably would have shattered before it could do fatal damage. It wasn’t the murder weapon, not by a long shot. His eyes drifted to the snow around them, seeing no foot steps. If she kicked him out, then it must’ve been sometime yesterday before or during the snowfall. Peter shut his eyes, collecting his thoughts with a calm mind.  

 _Where would Felix go?_ He didn’t have his belongings and he barely had enough money to sustain himself let alone buy a motel room. He was in the streets, but more likely, when snow came, he was stranded here. Peter opened his eyes, rushing to the other side of the apartment, his father following closely the moment he realized Peter had run off.

It was freezing out. Felix had no money, no jacket, which meant he was still here. Peter ran when he saw what he was looking for, the shared laundry room for the entire apartment building, unlocked as he expected it to be. He opened the door, finding a boy huddled close to a running machine in nothing but a hooded sweater, jeans, and curiously _no shoes_.

“Felix?” Peter called out, approaching slowly, still holding his duffel bag.

The boy flinched visibly despite his heavy shivering. His eyes crawled up, seeing Peter and immediately reeling. He struggled to stand, knees buckling under him as he tried to stabilize himself against a rumbling dryer, “Stop.”

Peter was taking off his jacket, “You’re going to—”

“Stop it!” Felix cried out, failing to get up, falling back onto his knees, “Don’t look at me,” He sobbed out, yanking at his sweater to cover himself, “Just leave. Please.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Peter said, moving in to drape his jacket over Felix despite the boy fighting him pathetically, “Let me help you. Please,” Peter begged, reaching out and grabbing Felix’s left wrist when it tried to swat at him.

Felix’s eyes snapped open, a pained scream bursting from his lungs as he yanked his wrist away, holding it tight to his body while his eyes watered in pain. The sleeve slipped down, revealing the awful swelling around his bony wrist. Peter swallowed, looking down at Felix’s ankles, realizing why he couldn’t get up.

“Let me call the police,” Peter said, kneeling down, “We’ll get this checked out. You’re going to be okay.”

Felix wouldn’t even look at him, “Go away,” He choked out, trying to fill his gaze with spite.

“You’re making it worse,” Malcolm whispered, offering a hand to Peter.

“I don’t care. He doesn’t have a choice,” Peter responded, standing on his own slowly while Felix remained huddled on the floor, the warmth from the dryer his own solace in this wretched room.

“Felix! What do you think you’re doing in there?”

Felix paled in a way Peter never thought he could. The pain disappeared, replaced with terror in his eyes and a stiff expression. Marilyn stepped in, purposely shoving past Malcolm, “What are you doing in here? Why aren’t you back in your room?”

Peter seethed. Felix had no room in that apartment.

“Do you think hiding in here will let you skip your chores?” She grabbed Felix’s arm, dragging him to his feet, “Come on. Let’s go,” She dropped a pair of slippers on the ground, ignoring how Felix shuddered and groaned as he slipped his feet into them and followed his mother out obediently.

Peter was shaking with rage, “Hey!” He barked, “How did Felix get hurt like that?” _Broken wrist, broken ankle_ , all Peter could imagine was Felix sleeping on the couch in the dead of night, his mother coming in late and beating him with the same bat she struck Peter with, furious that her son was trying to live off her.

Marilyn looked disturbingly smug when she turned around, giving Felix a friendly stroke on the head, mocking the way Malcolm doted on Peter, “Tell them what happened.”

Felix met Peter’s eyes. His expression was numb and empty as he spoke.

The excuse Felix came up with, the pathetic words the slipped from Felix’s mouth before he limped off with his mother, Peter could find no way to respond to them, robbed from words at the futility of Felix’s life. _He almost wanted to cry_.

Malcolm took his son’s hand, holding him tightly, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

 

A sundae topped with strawberries, chocolate candies and multiple spurts of whipped cream was placed in front of Peter, “Thanks Ruby,” Malcolm said, winking to her and getting a sarcastic eye roll in return as the waitress walked off, “Forget about what happened. Dig in,” He said to his son, shoving the sundae towards him.

“How could I?” Peter replied, fidgeting with a dessert spoon, “You saw what just happened, didn’t you? We need to call child services. Why hasn’t anyone done it yet?”

“She keeps ducking them,” Malcolm replied, “And they can’t do anything unless Felix testifies to it, which he never does.”

“Just look at him,” Peter said, striking the table, “She attacked him for coming home and sleeping on her couch. Are you honestly telling me we can’t do anything after that?” He narrowed his eyes, whole body twitching in rage, “Or is it that you don’t want to do anything? You keep telling me to stay away from Felix, but it looks like you knew _exactly_ what he was going through.”

“Peter—” Malcolm cut himself off, ticking his head to the side, “I can’t. It’s difficult to explain but I can’t say anything. She’s got something on me,” He huffed, “I’ve tried more times than you could ever know, believe me. And time and time again, it only got me into more trouble later,” He took his son’s hands, holding them still, soothing them, “This is not something we can fix. You’re only going to make this worse.”

That was the same thing Felix said to him, choosing to shrink away and disappear despite Peter reaching out to him. Peter couldn’t believe that, not with the knowledge of his future sitting literally in his backpack. He nodded though, wanting to dismiss this topic before he lost hope.

Malcolm let go of him, reaching into the sundae and stealing a strawberry, “Thought I’d never have to deal with Marilyn again, crazy woman.”

“Did you used to be friends?” Peter asked, catching his father’s puzzled expression and quirked brow, “She said you threw her to the curb.”

“Ah, right,” Malcolm said, licking the cream off his fingers, “We used to be friends, before I was married to your mother and a little bit after,” Peter’s expression immediately soured, “Not like that. That’s not why your mother and I divorced. We were friends; I helped her out with some problems. After a while, I realized she was _wrong_ , so I severed my ties with her.”

 “Can I call you Mal?” Peter asked, taking a chocolate off the sundae only for it to be snatched away by his father.

“If you want to be grounded, sure,” Malcolm replied, snickering lightly as he reclined in his seat, “I’m thinking we get cake for dinner.”

“Mum’s going to be furious,” Peter said, taking a scoop of ice cream and snacking on it, “But I guess she doesn’t have to know.”

Malcolm shot a look to his son, pointing at him, “Now you’re learning!”

 

There was no opportunity to return Felix’s duffel bag. Malcolm offered to leave it at their home, but Peter wouldn’t allow it, knowing Felix’s mother would toss it in the trash or pawn it away for money. He kept hold of it, stuffing it beside his backpack while he texted his friends lazily on his bed. He didn’t have time to hang out, not with his mission.

Once his friends had stopped messaging him, Peter reached into his bag and took out the police report once more. The edges of the folder were dogeared and the pages were starting to tear. He’d gone through the report as many times as he could. To search it one more time was just an act of desperation, acknowledging that he was at an impasse. Growling, Peter stuffed the folder back into his bag, flopping backwards onto the bed, formulating plans and coming up with nothing.

Peter needed more information. Peter needed more leads. His eyes flickered automatically to the duffel bag. It was an invasion of privacy that Felix would hate him for, but Peter convinced himself that it would be worth it. He opened the bag, finding sweaters and books stuffed over the top haphazardly. Felix didn’t even have the time to unpack when he returned home.

Taking the sweaters and books out, Peter came across a plastic bag of toiletries, toothbrushes, miscellaneous soaps, a cheap cologne that looked barely used. The scent wafting from the bottle was familiar, reminding him of a _happy_ Felix and Peter wasn’t sure why until his eyes flickered to his computer. His breath choked, and he put the cologne away before the shame could surface.

The only notable thing Peter could find was a curious, fleece blanket covered in stars. It looked far too small for Felix, looked fit more for a child half his age. Peter reached under the folds, pulling out a book of immaculate condition: _Peter Pan._ There was sentimental value in this, Peter knew, as he flipped through the book and noticed how perfectly preserved this was.

As he flipped through it, a piece of folded, notebook paper slipped out. Unlike the rest of the book, the page was worn and looked to have been torn out poorly from a regular, lined notebook. Peter opened it gingerly, noting the crayon scribbled all over it. Upon it was a crude drawing of a boy with yellow hair and notable purple pants cloaked in browns and greens

_Lost Boy Leader Felix._

_Pan’s number one Lost boy._

The words were scrawled along the side with a crude, little drawing of Peter Pan. Peter ran his fingers over the fading crayon, wondering if Felix drew this back in kindergarten back when they were friends, wondering if _he_ was Peter Pan in his eyes. Peter turned the sheet over, noting what appeared to be a letter written on the back.

“Dear Peter Pan, Neverland must be a wonderful place with no adults, no rules,” Peter read, “I’d play all day and be the best lost boy ever. No one would miss me here and that’s okay. Please take me away. I’ll be your lost boy forever. I believe in you,” Peter folded the letter, stuffing it back into the book, “From, Felix.”

Peter could see him: A small, decrepit Felix sitting in a shitty living room amongst trash and dirty furniture, bruise on his face and a star covered blanket wrapped around him, scrawling onto paper with crayon he stole from school, _smiling despite himself_ , finding hope from delusions. Peter huffed, folding up the book in the blanket, steeling himself with two slow breaths.

It was wrong for him to keep going, _Peter convinced himself_. He shouldn’t be perusing through Felix’s personal belongings. He already broke his trust before; he didn’t need to shatter it to dust. Peter stuffed his things back into the bag, sealing it up and placing it in his closet for safe keeping. He’d use this as an excuse to bring Felix over, have him eat with his family, anything to build that fragile trust he nearly succeeded in creating a few nights ago.

Before Peter went to bed, he wondered how Felix was resting tonight. Was he back inside? Was he sleeping in the laundry room again? The thought made his heart ache.

 

**Monday February 8 th, 2010 **

Peter was too eager, showing up and waiting at Felix’s locker right in the morning. He watched the students trickle in, the early risers chatting outside their classrooms, teachers prepping their classes at their desks. Peter stayed where he was, leaning against Felix’s locker and watching the crowds of students thicken as time went on.

 _Still no Felix_. Peter swallowed, his index finger twitching, fearing the worst, fearing that Felix’s fate was accelerated after returning to his mother or perhaps the Darlings saw him as a loose end and needed him cut. His entire hand was beginning to fidget, thinking up the worst of possible situations. His brows curled, his teeth sinking into his lips, his expression bittering the closer it got to the start of class.

_Still no Felix._

The halls were empty, but Peter wouldn’t move. He folded his hands under his arms, stilling them as best as he could as his eyes remained locked at the entrance.

_Still no Felix._

Peter’s voice choked, eyes blurred.

_Still no—_

Peter blinked, eyes meeting with the hobbling, hooded figure carefully entering the school with his backpack slung awkwardly over his right shoulder. Peter stood up straight, his trembling stopping. Felix approached his locker slowly, doing his best to ignore Peter as he fumbled with the lock with just his right hand, unable to hold it still and turn the dial with one hand.

“Let me help,” Peter said, holding the lock only for Felix to pull it from his hand, unable to make eye contact. Understanding, Peter stepped back, watching Felix spend a good minute rattling his lock and getting his locker open with one hand, lowering his backpack and carefully retrieving his text books from the shelf, “I’ve got your bag. If you come over to my place tonight—” Peter froze, watching Felix’s arm drop, all the textbooks he retrieved tumbling to the ground.

Felix’s gaze was filled with fear, unfocused and illogical, like he was staring at the devil himself. He jerked away, lips trembling as he spoke silent words. Peter didn’t understand, never could, so he reached forward and tried to take Felix’s hand before he ran. _It didn’t work_. Felix yanked away and tried to run but immediately agitated his sprained ankle. He yelped, pathetic and weak, he tumbled to the ground like the textbooks he dropped, his injured wrist unable to brace him so he struck the ground hard. He groaned, covering his head pathetically as he crumpled onto the floor.

“F-Felix!” Peter cried out, stepping over the books, kneeling to him, “Let me get you to the nurse’s office.”

“ _Please stop_.”

“I can’t,” Peter said, taking Felix’s good wrist, other hand on his shoulder as he fought Felix’s violent trembling to lift him, “You need to see the nurse.”

“ _I’m begging you._ ”

“Come on, I’ll get you up. Hang onto my arm,” Peter said, moving to stand only for Felix to grip onto his left arm tightly, yanking him back down, his body deadweight, “Felix?” A hot tear fell onto Peter’s arm, seeping through his clothes, quickly matched by several others. Peter blinked, his expression crumbling when he looked at Felix’s face.

“I can’t do it anymore. I give up,” Felix sobbed, sniffling weakly, sprained wrist trembling as he mopped away the tears with the back of his arm, “You win, okay? You win. I don’t want to play anymore,” Felix said, sad, broken smile on his face as he stared at Peter with twisted affection, “I’ll go away forever. You’ll never hear from me ever again.”

This isn’t what Peter wanted, not at all, so he kept his hands firmly on Felix, his expression solemn and as sincere as he could make it.

Felix wouldn’t buy it, wouldn’t let him, “What do you want from me? Why can’t you leave me alone?” He shouted, almost wailing, “ _Haven’t I suffered enough?_ Why are you doing this to me?” His sobbing got worse with everything he shouted, tears heavy on his cheeks, breath choppy and bogged down by salt and mucus. He met Peter’s gaze again, completely devoid of emotion, “I wish I was dead. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

_No._

_No. No. No._

_No. No._

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

Peter awoke in the infirmary, blinking away the slightest tears in his eyes, unable to remember how he ended up here with Felix. A hall monitor found them or a stray teacher, Peter figured but the rest was a blank. All Peter could remember was Felix’s eyes, devoid of hope and life, crying out in pain and his own thoughts caught like a record on a single word.

“No,” Peter whispered, shaking himself back into reality, spotting Felix on the bed beside him, the school nurse carefully bandaging his ankle. His left wrist was already complete, laying on the bed limply beside him. Felix’s tears had dried up, but his eyes were still empty and red. He sniffled once, brushing at his nose with his good wrist.

 When the nurse was done, she returned to her desk, writing up a slip of absence for Felix. The lanky boy lifted his head, “Is it okay—” His words stuttered when the nurse looked back up, “…Is it okay if I rest till lunch? I’m tired. That’s why I fell this morning.”

The nurse had no reason not to let him. She nodded, filling in the slip to excuse Felix for the entire morning. Relieved, Felix fell back into the bed, turning his head to press his cheek into the pillow, eyes shut and already dozing off. Peter swallowed, looking to the nurse, “Can I stay the morning too?” Felix’s eyes snapped open at Peter’s words, “I just need a break. Please?”

Eyes round and innocent, words careful yet firm, the soft-hearted nurse drafted up a second slip, paying neither of them any mind as she left the room to deliver all the absentee slips she had. As soon as she walked out, Felix huffed loudly, groaning as he turned onto his right side away from Peter, pulling the blanket over him, determined to sleep before Peter started talking.

Peter stayed where he was on his bed, staring at Felix as he curled up under the blanket with his injured limbs sticking out from under the blanket, “Are you okay?” He bit his tongue immediately when he asked the question, “I…know you’re not.”

“Please go away.”

To realize that a week had passed and Peter hadn’t made any progress was maddening. Peter remained on the opposite bed, staring at Felix’s back and seeing all the bruises beneath it, “Contrary to what I’ve done to you in the past, I’m really not trying to hurt you now.”

Felix wouldn’t look at him, “You humiliated me in front of your friends. You took away my job with the Darlings. You sent me back to my mom,” His hand tightened in the sheets, “All because I said that _I liked you_?”

 _When did he say that?_ It had to be the week Peter still didn’t recall. Peter could believe it: Felix confessing his feelings and Peter taking this juicy piece of leverage and crushing Felix’s heart with it.

“I wish I never met you,” Felix whispered, pulling the blanket higher over his shoulders.

“Don’t say that,” Peter said, wanting so desperately to reach out and turn Felix to him, “I didn’t mean to send you back to your mother.”

“I don’t believe you,” Felix repeated, voice defeated and tired.

This was exhausting. It had only been a week, but Peter felt like he had been fighting this battle for years. Peter clawed at his hair, groaning quietly, so _frustrated_ but unable to let himself lose control, “Then stay at my place. I have your stuff with me. I accidentally took it with me when—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you ever again,” Felix snapped, his body flinching, “Why can’t you just leave me be?”

Peter said nothing, having no satisfactory answer. He stood from his bed, approaching Felix slowly, “How can I prove that I’m not out to get you?”

Peter was good with words. Peter tried words, his best words, but they failed repeatedly against someone immune to silver tongues. He needed actions now, something to prove that he wasn’t here to hurt him, something that Felix wanted deep down inside of him. Swallowing his pride, Peter kicked off his shoes and _climbed onto Felix’s bed._

The lanky boy flinched, trembling when he felt a warm body slide up under the blanket against his back, an arm circling around his waist, “Wha-wha… stop. Stop!” He struggled as best he could without agitating his injured body, but Peter remained where he was, utterly still as he pressed his face into the back of Felix’s hood, “Peter!”

In his grasp, Felix was bony, like holding a bag of twigs in a ratty sweater. He smelled musky, unclean, his sweater having not been washed in a long time. Peter paid it no mind, keeping himself pressed against Felix on the bed, shushing him soothingly as he shut his eyes and relaxed. Desperate for affection, craving even the worst of it, Felix found himself loosening despite himself. He clicked his tongue, shutting his eyes, hating himself for dozing asleep with Peter clinging onto him.

“Whatever game you’re playing,” Felix whispered, his voice breaking off into a whine when he felt Peter tighten his grasp around him, burying his face into the back of his neck. _I won’t be a part of it._ The second half never came out.

“No game,” Peter whispered into his ear, “I promise.”

It had been too long since someone held him like this, too long since he was pleasantly warm with another’s body against his. Felix felt himself drifting away, drunk on the simple feeling of being cared for. His arms curled up, tucking Peter’s hands under him. Peter followed closely, feeling _complete_ for the first time since he woke up.

 

“--Wake up.”

“Mm… five more minutes.”

“It’s lunch time. Come on.”

The bundle in his arms shuffled at the words. Peter held it tight, forcing it still, “Five more minutes,” He repeated, rolling forward until the bundle in his arms yelped suddenly. Peter’s eyes opened slowly, staring down at a mess of blond snarls, blinking twice as the memories returned, “F-Felix?”

The nurse was staring back at him, an almost embarrassed look on her face, “It’s lunch time. You should probably grab something to eat before you get back to class.”

“R-Right,” Peter mumbled, propping himself up, staring down at Felix who was still curled under him but very clearly awake, “Um, sorry.”

Felix didn’t say a word, eyes wide but not fearful, more shocked than anything. He gulped, sitting up slowly, favouring his right side as he pulled his hood back on and climbed off the bed.

“Hey, Felix?” Peter called out, noticing how silent Felix had become, avoiding everyone’s gaze as he put his socks and shoes back on carefully, “Felix?” Peter called out again, sliding off the bed quickly when he saw Felix pick up his bag and head to the door, “Wait!” He reached out, grabbing Felix’s arm.

To his surprise, Felix turned to him, red in the cheeks with a docile look on his face, appearing almost _precious_ in Peter’s eyes. Peter was stunned by the look, returning it with an equally silly expression. Felix’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to put words behind his expression, “Mm—” He choked on his words, blushing to his ears when he met Peter’s eyes for too long, “M-My bag. You have it, right?”

Peter nodded quickly, “You can come to my place to pick it up. Or I can bring it to school.”

“Your place sounds good,” Felix blurted out, his voice immediately shaking, “I-If that’s okay.”

Peter nodded again, “Do you remember where it is?” He said, fighting the urge to smile when Felix nodded in reply and puttered out meekly. Victoriously, Peter smoothed his hair back and breathed in deep. Finally, something good had happened and the nap was a nice bonus.

 

“What the—” Peter scoffed, stepping out from his room to find his father lounging around in just

pajama pants, “Put some actual clothes on. I have someone coming over.”

“Pajama pants are clothes,” Malcolm replied, rolling his eyes when Peter hurled a shirt and a pair of khakis from the laundry basket at him, “Who’s coming over?”

Peter hesitated, using a cough to cover up his lie, “Fe— Fiona’s coming over.”

“Fiona?” Malcolm said, brow raised with an utterly obnoxious grin on his face, “I haven’t heard that name before. Where’d you meet her?” He brushed his hair back quickly, shaping it lazily in the mirror, “Do I need to put some cologne on? I’d hate to leave a bad impression.”

“She’s in my art class,” Peter replied, careful not to make eye contact as he distracted himself with a packet of hot chocolate mix, “And she’s coming over to pick up something and I want to leave a good impression, alright?”

“Is she staying for dinner?” Malcolm asked, leaning over his son’s shoulder and giddy with excitement, “Let’s order a pizza. What does she like to eat?” He pulled the flier off the fridge, “We should get wings too. Does she like getting messy?”

Before Peter could respond, the doorbell rang and _Malcolm_ was already sprinting towards the sound, “Dad!” Peter shouted, chasing after him, freezing when Malcolm opened the door and saw Felix standing meekly in the front. As usual, Felix had the same mousy look on his face, unfocused gaze unable to meet Malcolm’s, fingers jittering at his side. A second later, Malcolm shut the door in his face, “What the hell?”

“You are _not_ inviting Felix over,” Malcolm said, voice firm as he took his son by the shoulders and gently walked him backwards, “He assaulted you. He’s dangerous.”

Peter shook his father off, circling around him and nearly shoving him when he fought back, “He’s just here to pick up his bag. That’s all,” Peter opened the door, surprised to find Felix already back on the sidewalk and marching away, “Felix!” He called out, “It’s fine. My dad’s just being an idiot.”

The lanky boy peered backwards, taking small, puttering steps forward. He stopped right at the door frame as if he’d be stepping into acid if he took one more step forward. Peter tilted his head, glancing briefly at his father before looking back, “Your bag is in my room. You can come in if you want.”

Felix shook his head, pulling in his lips back to smile weakly, “It’s okay. I’ll just take it and go.”

“I can grab it,” Malcolm said, leaving briskly to Peter’s room.

Peter clicked his tongue, despising how antagonistic his father was acting. He was always too protective; it infuriated Peter especially in this moment, “Do you want to stay for dinner? We’re having pizza.”

Felix stuttered but had no chance to reply. Malcolm came dashing back over, duffel bag in hand with a plastic grin as he pushed it into Felix’s hands, “Here you go. On your way then.”

“Felix is staying for dinner!” Peter announced, cutting Felix off once more. He reached out, grabbing Felix’s wrist lightly and yanking him forward, “Isn’t that—” Peter blinked, lips snapping shut when Felix jerked away violently, rubbing at his wrists like Peter’s touch burned, “Sorry,” Peter said quickly.

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered, “I’ve got dinner waiting at home.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter said, watching Felix intently as his gaze shifted up and hardened, “Stay here and eat dinner with us.”

Malcolm stepped forward, putting a hand on Peter, “He doesn’t want to eat with us. Don’t force him.”

His father was dismissive, and Felix wasn’t helping, gaze already shifting away as he backed off slowly. Peter wouldn’t relent, grabbing his jacket and charging forward, “Then I’ll eat with Felix. Just me and him.”

“P-Peter!” Malcolm shouted, reaching for his son who deftly dodged him, standing beside Felix with a confident nod. He watched his son take Felix’s good wrist and walk off, the taller boy meekly looking back with a frightened expression before disappearing past the fence.

“W-Wait—” Felix stuttered, dragged along by Peter who wrestled his jacket on clumsily, “Wait!” He shouted, voice breaking as he tore his wrist back, fixing the strap of the duffel bag on his shoulders, “Your dad was expecting you for dinner.”

“It’s fine,” Peter replied, “We eat dinner together all the time,” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing his wallet and taking out the credit card his father gave him, “Where do you want to eat?”

Felix shook his head, “I can’t pay for it.”

“My dad will. It’s fine,” Peter replied, huffing when Felix remained unreceptive, “What is it?”

Nervously, Felix kneaded at the edge of his coat, playing with the fraying strings, scratching at a stray stain. His eyes flickered up as he hesitated to speak, “If you’re doing this out of pity, _don’t._ Okay?”

“I’m not,” Peter replied, reaching forward, touching Felix’s injured wrist gingerly, “I want to fix things between us.”

The words came out to quick, sputtering out almost nonsensically, “Things are fine,” Felix blurted out, pulling his wrist away from Peter, “Things are fine. I’ll be fine.”

Not in one week unless Peter intervened now, “You know they aren’t,” Peter said, “And I haven’t made it any easier for you. You lost your job, you had to go back to your mum,” He paused when he caught Felix nibbling at his lip, holding something back. Peter figured he knew what it was, “And humiliating you in front of my friends. I was being stupid and I’m sorry.”

Felix was resistant, but Peter knew why. Words were never going to be enough for a boy hardened by so much pain. Peter extended a hand, a peace offering, “Let’s go for dinner. My treat. Anything you want.”

The air was silent for longer than Peter was comfortable with. He tucked his hands into his pocket, watching Felix drift around, eyes scanning everything, trying his best to suppress his natural resistance. He looked to Peter, appearing like a child half his age looking for his mother, “Okay.”

Peter smiled, “What do you want to eat?”

Felix’s eyes drifted down, studying the frost on the nearby lawn, “I don’t… I don’t know,” He took a sharp breath when Peter remained quiet, staring him down, “Uh… pizza sounds good.”

Finding a seat at his usual pizza place, Peter quickly ordered a pizza for the two to share, opting to his usual when Felix failed to choose toppings. Peter didn’t pay much attention to it, aware of Felix’s docility. After the order, the two stayed quiet at the booth, awkwardly playing with the straw of their drink. Peter rolled the straw between two fingers, awkward smile on his face, “Don’t tell anyone,” Felix glanced up briefly but immediately jerked away, “That was the best nap I’ve ever had. I’ve never been so rested,” Peter almost laughed at Felix’s sheepish expression, face losing its pallid colour for a shade of crimson.

“M-m,” Felix mumbled out, tucking his hands in his sweater, “Me too,” He whispered, almost unintelligibly. He looked away as if he was thinking. Peter was curious when Felix looked back with quivering lips and shut eyes, “Maybe we should do it more often,” He choked out almost too loudly.

Peter didn’t get it, especially with Felix’s unreadable tone and expression. It took a couple sips of coke before it hit him, “Oh,” _Felix was trying to follow up the joke_. The thought that Felix tried so hard to make a joke was enough to force Peter’s lips to curl in happiness. He snickered lightly, leaning forward, causing Felix to reel back awkwardly, “Your ears are blushing.”

The frail boy immediately clasped his hands over his ears, somehow blushing even harder, “Um… forget I said that. Please?”

“No way!” Peter replied, bright smile on his face with his brow quirked, his trademark look to get any girl or boy on their knees for him. Felix melted in front of him in seconds, “I think I’ll hold that against you for the rest of your life,” He pushed Felix’s drink closer to him, “You’re going to need that to cool off,” He snickered again when Felix nearly poured the drink down his throat.

Their pizza came shortly after. Felix wolfed it down, mostly out of hunger but also to stop himself from saying anything else embarrassing. Peter didn’t mind, watching Felix’s frail hands pick up slice after slice. He wondered when the last time Felix ate pizza was, figured he probably lived off instant food or leftovers when he was stuck with his mother.

_After dinner, Felix would go back to her._

Peter bit his lip, hands twitching, thinking about Felix returning home and getting beaten or locked out. He couldn’t let Felix go home, especially knowing that his death could very well be in that terrible apartment, “Felix,” He called out, watching as the boy looked up from his fourth slice of pizza, “Sleep over with me.”

Felix struggled to respond, eventually ducking his head and hiding under his hood when he could not speak comprehensibly.

“Don’t go back to your mother’s place. It’s not safe,” Peter said.

“Your dad doesn’t like me,” Felix responded quietly.

“He’s only overprotective because you attacked me,” Peter said.

“He told me to kill myself.”

“I don’t blame you for attacking me for the—” Peter paused, blinking, “What?”

Felix stopped, brows furrowed, “He…” Felix looked away, “Forget I said anything.”

“When did you talk to my dad?” Peter asked, frustrated when Felix receded, “When did this happen?” He reached out to Felix desperately, taking his good hand, staring at him firmly, “I need to know this.”

Felix swallowed, rubbing his lips dry, “I… before I worked for the Darlings. I’d go to the convenience store he worked at and he’d…” He paused, numbness washing over him, “He’d say things to me every time I bought food there. I figured he hated me because you hated me.”

_Dad hates Felix? He told him to kill himself? Child services was a lie, wasn’t it? Felix started working with the Darlings a month ago; that’s what John said. Dad hated him before then? Before any of this?_

_Could Dad kill Felix?_

“Peter?” 

Peter blinked several times, lost in thought. He thought back to the police report. There was nothing that implied Malcolm had anything to do with it. He wasn’t even considered a potential suspect. He certainly didn’t have a baseball bat in his home. However, Peter couldn’t forget that his father _died_ in his timeline by _Michael Darling’s_ hands. _Was the motive revenge?_

“Forget about my dad,” Peter said, “You’re staying with me. I’ll ask him.”

Too docile to fight, filled with food for the first time in a long while, Felix nodded in agreement.

 

“Felix is staying.”

“Not even going to ask? I get no respect in this household,” Malcolm mulled, eyes gliding over to Felix, “Absolutely not,” Malcolm hissed, glaring at Felix, “I’m not letting this miscreant stay over in my home.”

Peter remained fierce. He spread his arms in front of Felix when Malcolm lunged, blocking his father as Felix meekly stayed quiet in the back. Peter crossed his arms, furious, “You threatened Felix.”

“He attacked you and left you for dead,” Malcolm said.

“Before that! Felix said you’d threaten him whenever he came to buy food at the convenience store,” Peter snapped, “You told him to kill himself. I bet you were lying about calling child services. You never tried once, have you?”

Malcolm huffed, running a hand through his flop of hair, “You don’t understand. Every time he came to buy food, every single damn time,” He glared at Felix, watching the boy cower away weakly, “He’d ask about you, all the time. He never stopped talking about you,” He said, voice gruff but honest, “He was obsessed with you. You’ve seen his mother, saw how implosive she was. you know he has the chance to turn out just like her.”

“Felix _won’t,_ ” Peter growled. _He dies before he has the chance._

“He _could_ ,” Malcolm retorted, “And just like her, what if he tries to hurt you? I’ve put up with Marilyn for _years_. I won’t let you go through the same thing with Felix.”

“What do you mean for _years_?” Peter said.

Malcolm groaned again, rubbing between his brows, “I should’ve never brought you to her,” He sighed, looking back at his son, drained, “A long time ago, there was _something_ between us,” Between Malcolm, Felix, and Peter, it wasn’t clear who was the most disgusted, “After I got married, even after I had a kid, _Marilyn was there_ hounding me every time she could. It took your mother hunting her down and threatening her with legal action to get her to stop.”

“Right, _Mal_ , huh?” Peter grumbled out.

“Do not call me that,” Malcolm said, talking down on Peter, “So you get it now? Or do I need to get into more detail?”

“Felix’s mom was a stalker. I get it,” Peter said, “Felix isn’t. He’s wanted nothing to do with me. I’m the one who’s dragging him along. If anything, I’m stalking him,” He reached backwards, grabbing Felix’s good arm and dragging him close, “Please. Just for one night. He’ll prove it to you. He’ll be on his best behaviour. Right?”

The lanky boy nodded quickly, bowing his head slightly, doing anything to show supplication.

Malcolm groaned again, realizing his son would not let up, “ _Fine._ One night. If he does anything suspicious, he’s out. Get that?” He shoved a finger in Felix’s direction, “And I _will_ be watching you.”

Felix nodded again, humming, “I understand.”

Peter had never seen his father so resistant, so aggressive against him, but he knew his father would cave. He led Felix up the stairs into the guest room, taking out fresh sheets for him and laying them out on the bed, “Don’t worry about my dad. Once you’re settled in, he’ll forget all about this.”

“I don’t blame him,” Felix murmured, taking off his sweater before sorting through his duffel bag, “I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“You’re not your mother,” Peter said, kneeling on the ground so he could look Felix in the eye, “You’re not some violent psycho who would beat their son for sleeping on their couch,” He reached out slowly, touching Felix’s injured ankle, “Is it okay?”

“Mm,” Felix hummed, the smallest smile on his face, “Thanks.”

Peter smiled back, relieved that he was able to rebuild the bridges between them. He returned to the closet, sorting through the junk to find a pillow, “You know,” He said, dusting off a decently stuffed pillow from the shelf, “I can’t believe my dad and your mom, you know—”

“Too much information?”

Peter looked back at Felix, smiling while Felix stared at him red-faced and awkward, “Took the words from my mouth,” He placed the pillow on the bed, bidding Felix goodnight before returning to his room. The moment he shut the door, he nearly collapsed onto the ground in tears. _He did it_. He had one week to solidify his relationship with Felix, one week to fix his life, one week to save him from his grisly fate.

Peter’s eyes drifted over to his backpack where the police report was hidden. The killer was still out there but with Felix safe, he had one less thing to worry about.  

**Tuesday February 9 th, 2010**

“What! That’s _my_ clothing!” Malcolm exclaimed, pointing at Felix wearing an auburn polo shirt with an oversized hooded sweater over top while sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal. His hair was still mildly damp from the shower, “It doesn’t even fit him. Give that back to me.”

“Stop that,” Peter commanded, taking Felix’s wrists and lower them when he started taking off his shirt, “It doesn’t fit you either after you gained weight.”

Malcolm cleared his throat loudly, folding his arms in front of him with a petulant look, “It’s _muscle_. And besides, wouldn’t Felix prefer his own clothing?”

“He doesn’t have anything clean. I tossed all his clothes into the washing machine this morning,” Peter replied.

“He’s using _my_ laundry machine too?” Malcolm replied, exasperated, “The things I let you get away with. You are spoiled to the core!”

“And whose fault is that?” Peter replied, pressing his forehead against his father’s as the two scowled at each other, “We’ll return your stuff after school. He just needs it for today.”

Plopping down in his seat at the table, Malcolm helped himself to a piece of toast coated in jam sitting on Peter’s plate, “Fine, fine,” Malcolm huffed, shaking his head in disapproval, “But you’re on laundry duty for the rest of the week, got that?”

“Fine, fine,” Peter replied, “At least my clothes won’t turn out pink anymore.”

“That was one time!”

A chuckle distracted the two. Peter and Malcolm’s gaze immediately fell upon Felix. While his smile was gone, the mirthfulness in his eyes was apparent. He picked up his empty bowl and placed it in the sink, turning back to the father and son pair, “Thank you for having me,” He left the kitchen, retrieving his bag from the chair across from him before heading to the door.

Peter broke away from his father, calling out to Felix, “I’ll walk with you,” He took the remaining piece of toast, picking up his bag from the floor, and nearly following Felix before his father took him by the arm. Peter, calm and confident, looked to his father and spoke, “I know what I’m doing.”

Suddenly solemn, his father nodded to him, “Be careful, alright?” He let him go, waving his son goodbye before returning to the kitchen table.

 

“Your dad is—” Felix stuttered when Peter’s gaze met his. He quickly ducked his head, “Nothing.”

“What about my dad?” Peter asked, leaning against the door of the train, meeting Felix’s eyes on the reflection of the window.

Felix took a slow breath, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, “He’s funny.”

“I guess. He gets it from me,” Peter replied, brow quirking playfully as he spoke.

“It’s nice, you know,” Felix mumbled, fidgeting in his pockets, “You and your dad. You get along so well.”

“Never really thought about that. I figured all parents were like that,” Peter said, stopping himself when he realized what he said, “Not that all parents would be like that. It’s not your fault.”

Felix hummed dismissively, head lolling against the window, staring out as they went into a tunnel. The artificial lights casting odd shadows on his face, “It’s fine,” He folded his arms around himself, bundling himself up as if to keep warm, “Michael and his father also got along.”

 _Michael Darling_. It seemed like Felix was on a first-name basis with him. Peter wanted to press further but fear stopped him. If he pushed too hard like he did before, Felix would run. He pretended like he understood, like he knew everything about how Michael knew him.

When the two left the train, Peter could immediately feel eyes upon him, voices whispering around him. Felix was immediately wary, keeping his head down as he moved past the crowds of students, giggling and whispering deliberately. Peter had to chase after him to keep up, slipping past the students best he could. He stopped when his phone buzzed, a text sent to him by Rufio.

_Is it true??_

Peter rolled his eyes, wishing Rufio was more explicit with his questions. He tapped back his exasperations and waited.

_Devins saying you were sleeping with Felix in the nurse office :O what happened??_

Peter figured this was what it was about. He clicked his tongue, glaring at the students that wandered by with condescending looks. He texted back quickly: _We were both tired. We were literally sleeping next to_ —Peter stopped, re-reading his response. He was dodging Rufio’s accusation, treating his contact with Felix like it was something undesirable just so he could save face. Never again. Peter texted back quickly: _So what if we did._

“Holy shit,” Rufio said from behind Peter, making him leap suddenly, “Serious?”

Peter whipped around, honestly surprised, “Yeah. What of it? Felix and I were resting together in the nurse’s office.”

“N-Nothing man, really,” Rufio replied, “I mean, you’re the one who kept messing with him, calling him a fag and all,” He said, ignorant of Peter flinching at the declaration, “I thought you had something against being gay.”

Peter honestly had nothing against anyone’s sexuality but felt like grasping at anything to abuse and humiliate Felix. He hated himself in that moment for using such disgusting tactics against Felix. No matter, Peter was determined to fix this, “You could say that I saw the light,” He said, folding his arms, “I put Felix through hell. I want to make it up to him.”

Rufio shrugged, dim and obedient, “Always figured you secretly liked him.”

Peter choked on his breath, “What?”

“I’ve never seen anyone turn over a new leaf this quickly!” Rufio exclaimed, “Literally a week ago, you were talking about putting a calling card up for him in a public bathroom.”

Peter seethed at himself. Was he really this horrible a person?

“I mean, I was disgusted honestly, but you and everyone else were so into it, I didn’t want to say anything. Thank god you changed your mind,” He gave Peter a firm pat to the back, “To be fair, I always figured you wanted to shag him.”

Peter seethed again, but not at himself, “What?” If he thought back enough, Peter could confirm that _yes_ , Rufio was always an idiot.

“Peter?” Felix murmured, breaking through the crowd and returning to him, “You disappeared—” He gasped, eyes wide and fearful at the sight of Rufio, fingers starting to tremble around his backpack.

Peter lifted his hands to supplicate him, “It’s fine. Rufio’s a friend, right?”

Rufio lifted his hands as well, nodding quickly, “I’m cool with this. But, uhh, sorry about everything. You know, that we did?”

It would always be awkward, Felix and Peter’s friends, the same ones that bullied him so horribly. Felix nodded but didn’t make eye contact, crumpling himself to become smaller in his eyes. Peter stepped forward, bidding Rufio goodbye before following Felix away.

“Don’t listen to anyone, alright?” Peter said, aware that the gossip was still fresh.

“I don’t,” Felix murmured, pulling away from Peter and walking towards his classroom. He looked back with a small smile, “But thanks.”

Who was Peter to be lecturing Felix about putting up with gossip? Peter put him through the ringer before. This was nothing new to Felix.

 

The day wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t a walk in the park either. The mood of the student body was noticeable different to Peter, like he had walked into some parallel dimension where everything was indescribably different. He waited by the back gates for Felix, staring at his phone as the lanky boy stepped out slowly, limping slightly.

“How’s your ankle?” Peter said, rushing to his side, offering him a shoulder to lean on.

Felix took it hastily, letting out a deep breath as he relieved his ankle, “I put too much weight on it going down the stairs,” He lowered his sleeve, “My wrist is okay though.”

“Ey’ Peter!”

Peter narrowed his eyes, watching as Rufio marched out with a toothy grin, “And new friend!” He reached out to give Felix a pat on the shoulder but halted when the boy recoiled suddenly, eyes squeezed shut. He paused, blinking twice before lowering his hand, “Ah. Sorry.”

It was honest confusion when he saw what appeared to be realization reflect in Rufio’s eyes, “What do you want?” He asked Rufio.

“Just wanted to head back to the train with my best friend,” Rufio replied, “And get some answers to the juicy gossip I’ve been hearing,” His lips were pulled upward again in a bright smile, “You know, the usual,” He marched on ahead, calling backwards, “You coming or not?”

Felix looked to Peter, nervous, unsure, but Peter gave his approval. Rufio was harmless, just an idiot. Felix accepted the answer, moving ahead, listening to Rufio prattle on about his day and pepper him with pointless questions.

“My…favourite musical?” Felix mumbled out, crushed between Peter and Rufio on a busy train.

“You look like you’d be a show choir kind of guy,” Rufio replied, inches away from Felix’s face.

Peter scoffed, “Felix is clearly a rock music person. Idiot.”

Rufio sighed, hanging his head and accidentally bumping into Felix’s nose, “Peter’s such a dick. Why did you become friends with him in the first place?”

“We were friends as kids,” Felix replied, answering the first question he could legitimately respond to.

“Really? Peter never mentioned that,” Rufio said, looking over to Peter with a puzzled look, “Is this one of those, you broke his heart when you were both little and now he hates you, sort of scenarios?”

Felix blinked several times, unsure how to answer. Peter peered over Felix’s shoulder with a harsh look, “No. It isn’t. Shut up, Rufio.”

“Just checking, just checking,” Rufio replied, snickering lightly, “Alright, I’ve got a personal question now,” He leaned into Felix and Peter’s space, whispering, “Did you guys do it? For real?”

Felix choked on his breath, red-faced and sputtering as he tried to back off and ended up stumbling onto Peter’s feet. Peter held him still, glaring at Rufio as pink tinged his cheeks, “No!” Peter exclaimed as Rufio nearly burst into laughter in front of him.

“Just checking!” Rufio repeated, “Man, I’m going to have a lot of fun with this,” He extended his hand to Felix, smile broad on his face and honest, “Nice to meet you Felix. For real this time,” Felix hesitated but with a nudge from Peter, he took Rufio’s hand and shook it, returning a crooked, lipped smile which Rufio gladly accepted.

Kind-hearted and loud, Peter forgot how much of a good person Rufio was even when he was coerced into Peter’s pettiness. It made him remember why he broke contact with him: He made Peter feel _inferior_. How could Rufio, dull-witted and naïve, have such a carefree, successful life? It was infuriating which made Peter cut him off. It was the only was he could feel better about himself.

As they pulled up to Rufio’s stop, he swung his arms around both and gave them a quick hug, “I’m glad you two have made up,” He turned to Peter, “Watch out, alright? I know Devin was getting a lot of mileage on those rumours,” He looked back to Felix, “You too,” He lifted his arms briefly, ready to leave before suddenly dropping them back on Peter’s shoulders. He closed in slowly, suddenly solemn as he spoke, “Also. I didn’t know if you knew but _there’s been someone following us since we left school_. In the back, with the grey scarf.”

 _What!?_ Peter cursed under his breath. Why the hell did Rufio wait this long to tell him?

“Watch out for that, got it?” He whispered to Peter, eventually breaking off and leaving the train with a wave.

Peter couldn’t stop himself from looking. His eyes glided backwards, seeing an utterly plain looking older man man wearing a thick grey scarf, absently swiping at his phone but his eyes, covered by a pair of sunglasses, constantly sweeping upwards. Peter swallowed, nearly sprinting out of the train with Felix beside him. _The man was still following them_ , always staying a good block away but never out of eyeshot. Peter clicked his tongue, looking over to Felix who remained silent after Rufio’s departure. It had to be someone from the Darlings, watching Felix, making sure he didn’t go to the cops.

“Felix,” Peter called out when the boy wandered ahead. His friend turned around, confused look in his eyes, “Do you want to go through the park?”

Felix narrowed his eyes, rubbing at his wrist absently, “In the winter?”

“Just want to talk without my father hovering over us,” Peter said, extending a hand, “Come on.”

Felix would never say no and Peter knew that. He led Felix in circles around the area, constantly watching for their pursuer. When the man was finally nowhere in sight, Peter made his way to the park with Felix in tow. At least, if something were to happen, they wouldn’t know where Felix was staying and his father would be safe. Peter sighed deeply, unaware that he had been so tightly wound throughout their walk.

“You okay?” Felix asked, leading Peter over to a bench for the boy to sit.

“Yeah, just need to walk it out. Rufio’s such a hassle, you know?” Peter said, a smirk in his voice, “Sorry about that.”

Felix shrugged, sitting down beside Peter, “Rufio was nice to me,” His hands were folded in front of him to prevent them from fidgeting, “He’d leave me alone unless you…” He faded, shutting his mouth, “Forget I said anything.”

Peter honestly had no idea. In hindsight, Rufio was always the most resistant to his ploys against Felix. He always followed along though, swayed by his friends and his charismatic leader. He wondered what became of Rufio after high school, if he broke through the barriers of peer pressure and became someone _better_ , “That’s good.”

“Was someone following us?” Felix asked, scanning the park unconsciously before looking back at Peter.

Peter twitched, “How’d you know?”

“When I collected,” Felix paused, thinking through his words carefully, “ _Stuff_ for Mr. Darling, Michael told me to wander until the tail gave up before returning to the route. Is someone following us?”

It was something Peter should have expected of Felix. He nodded to him, describing the scarf-wearing man. Felix hummed, absently scratching at a patch on his jeans, “He probably works for Michael.”

“Michael? He’s the one that arranged for you to leave,” Peter said, watching Felix crumple slightly, expression looking pained, “What is it?”

“It’s fine. He’s just keeping an eye on me,” Felix murmured.

It was a question that both knew were coming. Peter had to know but Felix was hesitant to say, “How did you get involved with the Darlings?”

Felix wouldn’t say, wouldn’t even look at Peter. He wrapped his arms around himself, looking away from Peter as he spoke, “It’s—um, I don’t…” He shut his mouth, shaking his head slowly with lowered eyes.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say,” Peter replied, standing up, “Come on, let’s go home.”

After dinner and homework, Felix and Peter were sitting on the guest bed, Felix fidgeting while Peter sorted through a first aid kit, “It’s fine. Really,” He gasped when Peter turned him around to stare at his back, “Really. It’s okay,” He nearly squealed when Peter lifted the back of his shirt, revealing awful bruises and marks all along his flesh, “P-Peter!”

“I’ve got numbing lotion. It’ll help you sleep at night,” Peter said, holding the metal canister in front of Felix so he could look at it.

“It’s fine, really!” Felix shouted, red-faced as Peter rolled his shirt off over his shoulders and twisted open the canister. A tiny whine escaped his throat with Peter spread the cream over his back, rubbing slow circles along his flesh, soothing aches as he went. Felix clamped his mouth shut, afraid that an undignified sound might slip up while Peter massaged his back.

“Hey,” Peter cooed into Felix’s ear, smirk evident in just his voice, “Your ears are blushing again.”

 Felix was so close to exploding; Peter groaned when his father stormed into the room and dumped a basket of laundry on him, disturbing their moment, “At least take the laundry out when it’s done,” He said, smacking his son over the head lightly with the basket. He looked over to Felix, furrowing his brows as he spoke, “What happened there?”

Felix gasped, rolling his shirt down immediately, arms tight around himself again as he looked away. Peter placed a hand on the center of his back, coaxing him to peacefulness, “It’s nothing. I got this.”

“Did you do that?” Malcolm asked, suddenly alarmed.

“No! God no,” Peter replied, “It’s just something from where Felix used to work.”

“Where he used to _work_?” Malcolm followed up, brow quirked in confusion, pressing further as Felix continued to recede.

Peter groaned, waving his hands in the air, “I can explain.”

“I don’t want you to explain it,” Malcolm responded, folding his arms, “I want Felix to explain,” The boy flinched visibly at the mention of his name, “If he’s gotten himself into trouble, I need to know that he hasn’t brought that trouble here.”

Felix blinked furiously, fingers fidgeting in the blanket, breath cutting short when Malcolm closed in and towered over him, “It’s nothing. Really nothing. There’s no trouble,” His eyes wandered, searching the room, searching for a place to hide.

“Stop it!” Peter shouted, climbing off the bed, standing at the same height at his father, “Leave Felix alone.”

“You don’t know what he might’ve brought with him,” Malcolm responded, “I don’t know any respectable job where you get _beaten_ like that.”

Peter shook his head, adamantly defending Felix despite the awful truth that Felix really _had_ brought something terrible into his life, “That’s not fair. You can’t say that.”

“Then tell me it’s safe to have him here. Look me in the eye and say that,” Malcolm replied, his rage turning into concern especially when Peter couldn’t do what he said.

“I let him beat me,” Felix finally spoke out. Malcolm and Peter froze, glancing over to Felix who remained closed up, limbs tight against himself and gaze directed to the corner of the room, “He said he was training me but all he did was beat me in his office. I think he liked it, but it didn’t matter to me. He gave me a place to stay, gave me food. His son gave me work to do. It was nice,” He looked up, eyes meeting Malcolm’s and immediately quivering, “It’s safe. We broke it off mutually. I promise.”

At his attempt to be confident, Malcolm couldn’t find the heart to reject him. He sighed, rubbing at his temples briefly before snatching the cannister from Peter’s hands, “I’ve got a warming ointment that’ll work better for long term aches. Take your shirt off.”

Felix did as he asked, laying down on his stomach while Malcolm smoothed the ointment down his back. He ordered his son out and Peter obliged, returning to his room while Malcolm continued applying the ointment.

**Wednesday February 10 th, 2010**

The next morning, Felix left early in the morning before Peter even awoke. Peter was furious, “What did you say to him?”

“What?” Malcolm said, looking up from the toast he was buttering, “Nothing. I put the ointment on him and went to bed. Other than ‘goodnight’, unless he was offended by that,” He put the toast down, following his son who ran to the door and grabbed his jacket, “At least eat breakfast first.”

Before Peter could even retort, the front door opened. Peter blinked, watching as Felix entered, dusting off the snow on his shoulders. He bowed his head when Malcolm and Peter both looked to him, taking off his shoes and returning to the table, “It’s snowing out.”

Peter didn’t press, neither did Malcolm, but the look in his father’s eyes was obvious: _Get some answers from Felix or I will._

Felix was obnoxiously quiet during breakfast, finishing up his cereal quickly and waiting on Peter by the door. Malcolm paid him no mind, given his son a pat on the shoulder before he left for school. Almost immediately, Peter spied the man from yesterday standing just down the street, still wearing sunglasses. Peter seethed, whipping towards Felix.

“You brought them here?” He hissed, uncaring of the sudden mousy look on Felix’s face.

“It’s safe. Really,” Felix replied, hands diving into his pockets, fidgeting, “Peter. It’s safe.”

“How do I believe that?” Peter snapped, constantly peering over to the man until he broke off and walked away, “What the hell did you do at the Darlings? Why are they sending people to follow you?”

Felix shook his head, frantic and uneven, “It’s not about the Darlings. It’s safe, please.”

“Why? Why is it safe?” Peter asked, folding his arms, intent on grilling Felix for putting his father in danger.

Felix looked up, firm, confident for just a second before it dissolved into pain. Like before, Felix couldn’t say. He swallowed, eyes unfocused. He shook his head, unable to look Peter in the eye, “Trust me.”

“How can I?” Peter responded.

“Do you remember—” Felix stopped, biting down on his lip. He shook his head, shutting his eyes as he pulled his hood on, “Nothing.”

Felix didn’t say a single word on their way to school. Likewise, Peter didn’t try to make conversation at all, simply tapping away at his phone.

 

All Peter could think about was his home, his father. Were they both being tailed now? What were they looking out for? Peter clicked his tongue, scribbling away in his notebook while his math teacher prattled on. Felix told him to trust him, told him that everything was safe. This was a boy who was willing to be beaten for shelter, who put up with a psychopathic mother for years. What constituted as _safe_ for him? Peter groaned lightly, collapsing on his desk.

 _Don’t get discouraged. Don’t give up._ Peter shut his eyes, willing himself to recall the memories of his original life: In a couple days, Felix would disappear and get _butchered_. In a couple years, Michael Darling would kill his father and then kill him. He figured this wouldn’t be easy.

Despite the denial, this was something associated with the Darlings. Felix wouldn’t tell him why but perhaps he could get answers from someone else. When the lunch bell rang, Peter was quick to the basement where he knew Felix was hiding. He blinked, honestly surprised when he saw Rufio sitting beside Felix on the ground chatting away while the boy meekly nodded.

“That’s why I feel like you’d be a _Carrie_ fan,” Rufio said, looking past Felix and waving happily to Peter when he saw him by the stairs, “Hey! Just keeping Felix company.”

“Hey…” Peter said, approaching them slowly and watching Felix cringe and hide as he got close. He sighed, kneeling to Felix, “I need something from you,” Felix’s gaze was glued to the floor, arms tight around his knees, “I want to speak to the Darlings. Do you have a phone number or email?”

Felix’s eyes glanced quickly to his backpack where his phone was. He quickly shook his head after, looking back at Rufio, begging for him to keep talking and distract him from Peter. He nearly leapt at his bag when Peter went straight to it, grabbing it and yanking it away from Felix.

“Whoa, whoa, what the hell is going on?” Rufio said, getting to his feet quickly as Felix scrambled to his feet, “Peter!”

“Stop!” Felix shouted, grabbing at Peter’s arm when he took his phone from his bag, “Stop! Stop! _Stop!_ ” His voice breaking as Peter fought him off effortlessly.

“I just need the number,” Peter said, turning on the phone only for it to be snatched away by a strong hand. He gasped, eyes landing on Rufio who held the phone above Peter’s head, “Stay out of this.”

“He doesn’t want you going through his phone,” Rufio said, handing the phone back to Felix who quickly stuffed it into his sweater pocket, “You’re trying to make amends, right? Then respect his wishes.”

“You don’t understand,” Peter said, glaring at Rufio with all the frustration he had meant for Felix, “That person you saw yesterday. He really was tailing us, and it has something to do with Felix’s previous job.”

“It doesn’t!” Felix pleaded, staring at Rufio with desperate eyes before looking back at Peter, “Why can’t you believe me?”

“Because you don’t tell me anything,” Peter responded, so damn frustrated at Felix’s secrecy despite everything he had done to help, “I’m not letting you put me or my father in danger. I need answers.”

It was no good. Felix wouldn’t speak. Rufio wouldn’t let him use force. Peter growled under his breath, throwing Felix’s bag back to his feet. He didn’t want to expedite this, didn’t want Michael Darling to kill him and his father _now_ , “Fine,” He responded, tearing away, “I’ll figure this out myself.”

“A month ago—” Felix’s breath hitched, Rufio and Peter both looking in his direction, “Do you remember?”

 _Shit._ Peter cursed himself. He did something to Felix again, didn’t he? Something he couldn’t remember anymore, “I don’t,” Peter shut his eyes tight, hating himself and everything he had done, wishing he could remember so he could make up for it.

Felix _smiled at him_ , sad and pathetic, “That’s good,” He murmured, taking his bag and walking up the stairs, leaving Peter and Rufio behind.

 _Peter did something to Felix. Again._ He hurt Felix unnecessarily and put up walls between them, walls that prevented him from confirming if his family was safe. He sighed heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face while Rufio was eerily silent beside him. Peter looked to him, puzzled, till Rufio met his eyes with an inquisitive look.

“You don’t remember?” He asked.

Peter blinked, so fucking relieved that Rufio remembered, “What happened?”

“You really don’t remember it at all,” Rufio said, looking around sheepishly, filled with guilt, “In the locker room, when were getting changed for PE…”

 

**Thursday January 7 th, 2010**

“What the hell?” Peter asked, peering into the shower and seeing Felix _naked and curled up in the shower room,_ lip split, bruised all over, clutching at his side weakly.

Gym class was uneventful, as usual, but Felix wasn’t. An hour later, when class ended and everyone was filing into the shower room, _Felix was still there,_ unmoving. Peter rolled his eyes, reaching for the shower taps and finding Felix’s bag and clothing draped over them, soaking wet.

Peter scoffed, glaring at Felix, furious for no reason. Felix simply shut his eyes.

 

**Wednesday February 10 th, 2010**

Peter wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. He wasn’t Felix’s tormentor, but he certainly didn’t make it any better. If anything, being a bystander was worse. He groaned, sitting at his desk with dinner getting cold beside him.

“Peter! How’s dinner?” Malcolm asked, opening his bedroom door and popping his head in, “Hey. You haven’t even eaten anything yet.”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter responded. How could he eat after Rufio told him everything?

“This is why you’re short,” Malcolm replied when Peter narrowed his eyes.

“I’m the same height as you,” Peter replied, whipping his hands in the air while Malcolm waved him off.

“Sorry. Just used to seeing you beside that freeloader. Tall kid,” Malcolm said, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame, “Are you done with your pet project now?”

It was equally infuriating how his dad would not accept Felix, “Why do you hate Felix so much?”

“First off, he’s a freeloader. Secondly, his mum’s a bitch. Thirdly, he attacked you. Fourthly, you came home dejected, unhappy, and without appetite on meatloaf night which I suspect has something to do with him,” Malcolm explained, fingers counting his reasons, “Ergo, I don’t like him.”

His father really was putting up a lot for this. Peter sighed, accepting his father’s rage, “Fine, fine. I’ll ask him to get a job or something,” He played with the trackpad of his laptop, pretending to be looking at something, “Your meatloaf is terrible anyway.”

“No respect in this household,” Malcolm said dramatically, shutting the door behind him.

A smile crept on Peter’s face. He remembered in his future, even when he had no friends, his father was still by his side. It gave him some peace knowing that his father would always be there for him. Shaking away his thoughts, Peter logged into Facebook and did a quick search for Wendy Darling. If Felix wouldn’t give him a way to speak to the Darling family, he’d find his own way.

A question still lingered in his mind after Rufio reminded him of what happened. Peter still had no reason why Felix was so resistant to telling him this. Something happened, something that he didn’t want Peter to know, something that somehow connects him to the Darlings and his stalker. _Felix didn’t want this uncovered, wanted to keep this buried._ Peter had to break his wishes once more, anything to save his father.

 

**Thursday February 11 th, 2010**

_Meet me after school at Granny’s ;)_

Peter knew he was charming but he didn’t know he was _that_ charming. Peter paid no mind to the man still following them, stalking them incredibly poorly. He paid no mind to Felix who remained distant and quiet while Rufio watched over him and warded off bullies. All he cared for was this date that could give him the answers he wanted.

“ _What_ ,” Peter gasped out, stiffening when he saw Michael Darling step into the diner, an unreadable expression on his face as he spotted Peter and took the seat in front of him, “Where’s Wendy?”

“Not going on a date with you, that’s what,” Michael replied, “What was it again? Lacrosse team? Shuffleboard? I don’t remember.”

“I was just trying to help Felix,” Peter responded, “And I knew whatever was happening there was killing him. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Michael said nothing, acknowledging Peter’s words as he waved to Granny, ordering a cup of coffee, “I offered to set him up with someone’s family. He refused. Didn’t want to be a burden so I asked my father to take him in.”

“Beating him for shelter,” Peter hissed.

“Watch yourself, Peter,” Michael said, his name sounding harsh on his tongue, “There are things you should know not to say.”

“Isn’t that why you have someone tailing us?” Peter replied, eyes scanning the diner suddenly but notably _not_ finding their pursuer, “Trying to keep us in line?”

Michael lifted his eyebrows, lips pursed in surprise, “Felix didn’t tell you about Neal?”

“Neal?” Peter responded, confirming Michael’s confusion, “Who’s he? One of your capos?”

“We’re not the mob, please,” Michael responded, crossing his legs casually, one arm over the back of his chair, “I asked Neal to keep an eye on Felix. Make sure he’s safe. He spoke with Felix yesterday morning. Are you sure he said nothing about him to you?”

Peter shook his head, “I don’t understand. Safe from who? Is someone after him?”

Michael looked even more confused, “No,”

 _Safe from who? Safe from Peter? Safe from…himself?_ Peter swallowed at the thought, “How did you meet Felix?”

“If he hasn’t told you, then I shouldn’t speak about it,” Michael said, unfazed when Peter slammed his fist down on the table, “Anger isn’t going to work on me. You know that.”

“I need to know. Please. I’ll do anything you want,” Peter said, desperate, weak, for just a moment before mischief took over, “I’ll tell everyone about your father’s dalliances, how he beats children for fun.”

Michael’s mirthfulness disappeared, eyes cold and smile terrifying, “You really don’t want to do that.”

“I will. _For Felix._ I’ll do anything,” Peter growled back, “Tell me what happened.”

Peter wasn’t joking around. Michael wasn’t either, but Peter’s resilience was endearing. Michael backed off, returning to his neutral expression, “A month back, I was at the train station. There was a boy, sopping wet and shivering, standing right at the edge waiting for the oncoming train. _We all knew what he was there to do_ ,” A strange smile was on Michael’s lips, “I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.”

Standing there while Felix lay broken in the shower, doing nothing, making it worse, while Michael Darling leapt out to save a boy he didn’t know. Peter tore away, covering his face with his hands. Felix wasn’t avoiding him, wasn’t hiding things, he just wanted to spare Peter from the guilt.

“So I offered him a job and when I realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of it, I let you take him away,” Michael said, sipping from his cup of coffee, “I had Neal keep an eye on Felix, _keep him safe_ , because I didn’t think you could handle it alone,” Peter peered up from his fingers, weak but curious, “You’re petty and naïve like all the other high school kids, but you think you’re above everyone and that’s what makes you dangerous,” He finished his coffee, gently placing the cup on the table before standing, “You couldn’t even see what was right in front of you.”

_“It’s safe.”_

_“Trust me.”_

_“Please.”_

Peter should have known.

“It was a good talk,” Michael said, standing, _but not leaving_ , “For the record, if Neal was _really_ tailing you, you wouldn’t even know he was there. Also—" It happened so quickly, a hand on the back of his neck slamming Peter forward, down onto the table, the other hand restraining one arm while the other clawed at the one on his neck helplessly. The waitresses stumbled back, frightened by the sudden violence, “Don’t _ever_ threaten my family again.”

Michael released him and disappeared. Peter breathed in deeply, inching himself upward slowly. _He was wrong._ Those words were once difficult for him to say but his experiences had humbled him. He stood, eager to go home and make everything right.

 

“Felix?” Peter asked, opening the door to his room. The lanky boy flinched on the bed, lowering the book he was reading, “Can we talk?”

Felix nodded back, lips pressed together tightly, putting the book on the bed and scooting over the edge to swing his legs down. He watched Peter sit on the stool in front of him, fingers twiddling in front of himself.

Peter swallowed, unsure what to say but desperate to show understand. He distracted himself with the stacks of book Felix brought with him, searching them and curious when he couldn’t find one notable book, “Where’s Peter Pan?”

Felix froze, stuttering first before speaking, “Did you go through my stuff?”

 _Oh. Oh shit._ Peter lifted his hands, “I-I… I was looking for any clues to where you were, you know. I meant no harm. I-uh, I’m just too curious for my own good, you know?”

Felix didn’t seem offended, maintaining the same numb, silent expression he always had. He looked away, climbing off the bed and retrieving his duffel bag from under the bed, “If it’s you, I guess its okay,” He said, taking out the book wrapped in a star-covered blanket, “It was my favourite.”

It was obvious why even without the letters and scribbles Peter found. It was a miracle that never came, a rescue that never existed, but Felix had nothing else to do but believe. Felix unravelled the blanket, running a hand down the cover with an absent smile.

“I used to read it to you,” Felix said, “Remember?”

If Peter reached back far enough, he honestly could. Peter and Felix, sitting on a worn couch, star-covered blanket under them as Felix stuttered through the book, enchanted with the words despite reading it a hundred times. Peter was there, listening attentively, burning the story into his memory with such effectiveness that even in adulthood, Peter was still recalling the story in his comics.

“I remember,” Peter said, smiling, “It was really fun.”

“I used to think you were Peter Pan. Your name was so similar, and your mother was the sheriff. I thought it had to be destiny,” Felix said, “And that someday, you’d take me away to Neverland,” His happiness faded, his gaze becoming distant, “All I did was make everything worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter’s words were hollow. They couldn’t fix years of relentless bullying, “Felix.”

Felix shook his head, wrapping the book up in his blanket and putting in back in the duffel bag, “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Peter said, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring you to Neverland.”

The laugh from Felix was small, decrepit, but at the very least, _happy_. He returned to his spot on the bed, picking up his book as Peter stepped out.

**Friday February 12 th, 2010**

Once upon a time, Felix was Peter’s closest, dearest friend. He wasn’t good at sports, wasn’t good academically, wasn’t all that great a conversationalist, but Peter felt something special with him, connected with him in a way that no one else did. _It was the way Felix looked at him_ , treating him like the most important person in the world. He could be witty if he tried but never too witty, never enough to overshadow Peter. He knew when to speak, when to be quiet, knew how to bring out the best in Peter. Even if this was only the case because Felix thought Peter was _Peter Pan_ , everything still felt genuine to Peter.

Peter wondered how he forgot about this, forgot how important Felix was to him. High school was a drug, smothering his genuine feelings for Felix. Peter clutched at his heart, sighing, finally realizing why he was so fixated on Felix after his death despite hating him for so many years. _It was never survivor’s guilt_.

“Peter!”

Peter mumbled loudly, eyes opening slowly, finding himself not in his bedroom but in a well-lit classroom with an angry teacher at the front and every student looking back at him. He swallowed, sitting up slowly with a sheepish look. The teacher scolded him, as to be expected, but what threw Peter off were the looks the students were sharing. Peter figured it out just before he was confronted about it.

“Heard you were talking in your sleep,” Devin said, leaning on the locker beside Peter as he put his books away. A couple of his friends hanging behind him chatting absently, “Really, Simon said you were moaning _Felix_ ,” He stretched the word in a faux moan, deliberately high pitched, “What is up with that?”

If Peter was honest, he never liked Devin. The boy was obnoxious, loud, disgusting charismatic, _just like Peter_. Peter clicked his tongue, shutting the locker, “Had a change of heart. I want you all to leave Felix alone.”

“His dick must be _that_ good, right?” Devin responded, “Heard Felix was staying over at your place. Is your daddy in on this too?”

“You really want to start this?” Peter hissed, eyes narrowing as he moved into Devin’s space.

Devin folded his arms, “Maybe I do,” He shrugged, backing off, seemingly victorious as he left for lunch with his friends.

Peter didn’t care much for it till he saw Rufio join them, laughing along playfully. Peter blinked, stepping forward, “Rufio!” He called out, seeing the boy falter, glance at him briefly before turning away like he hadn’t heard him, marching away with Devin’s friends.

_What the hell. Devins an asshole. Thought you were eating with Felix_

Rufio wouldn’t respond to his text which only pissed Peter off even more. So much for being a friend, flaking from the slightest nudge by Devin. _Peter couldn’t even blame him,_ aware that he cajoled Rufio into plenty of activities against his will. Nobody wants to be bullied. Peter couldn’t be like everyone else, not when Felix’s life was at stake.

“You okay?” Felix asked, looking up from his sketch paper.

Peter blinked himself out of his thought, “It’s nothing,” He said, “Just thinking about Rufio not eating lunch with you.”

“It’s okay. I like eating on my own more anyway,” Felix replied, shading in his drawing with a piece of green pastel chalk, “How many drawings do you have left to make?”

Peter reached into his folder, sorting through several sketches of Felix in different media, honestly proud of his work unlike the first time he made them, “I think this is my last one,” He said, gesturing to the one he was doing in ink.

“Same,” Felix responded, “We’ll be done early.”

 _Done early. Felix won’t go home late. Felix won’t get kidnapped._ Peter was smiling already, confusing Felix was his sudden happiness, “Let’s get this done and celebrate on Monday then.”

“Celebrate?” Felix said.

“No, let’s celebrate on Sunday. Let’s do something special. Just you and me,” Peter said, reaching out, touching Felix’s shoulder with no resistance, “Let’s have fun. Together.”

Felix blinked, confused, red-faced, his usual cold demeanor shattered. He swallowed, pulling his hood over his head, “P-Peter. There’s people staring,” He looked away briefly, studying his drawing, taking a slow breath, “But.”

Peter perked up, watching Felix lift his head, watching the hood fall back off.

“I’d love to,” Felix said, smile bright, almost blinding.

Peter’s hand hadn’t left his shoulder. Felix didn’t mind. When Peter finally pulled away, the awkwardness was gone, unlike every other time Peter tried reaching out. His gaze fell to Felix’s drawing, appreciating the various shades of green he was coloured with. It reminded him of what he wanted his Peter Pan graphic novel to be, elegant and mature despite the bright colours.

“That’s really good,” Peter said, tilting his head, remembering Felix’s hands flitting over a piece of paper with a bit of crayon, scribbling drawings beside him. It was fitting that pastel was still Felix’s choice medium, “Hm?” He hummed, watching Felix pick up a black felt pen.

“I should outline the eyes,” He said, “They’re not strong enough.”

Felix didn’t flinch when Peter’s hand came out, touching the back of his hand, guiding it down, “I think it looks fine as is,” _Were Felix’s fingers always this narrow?_ He took the pen, putting it aside, looking back up at Felix’s face, smirking, “Your ears are blushing again.”

 _Whats going on?_ Peter texted his friends one more time, clicking his tongue as he slid his phone into his pocket. Whatever, if his friends were going to shun him for spending time with Felix, he wanted nothing to do with them anyway. He scratched absently at a hole in his sweater, looking over his shoulder as his father continued cooking with Felix idling behind him.

“I can cook a lot quicker without you hovering over me,” Malcolm said, looking over at Felix with a quirked brow.

“I-I never learned how to cook. I just want to see how its done,” Felix mumbled out, kneading weakly at his sweater.

“I figure Marilyn never bothered cooking. It’d make another excuse for her to stop by the convenience store,” He tossed the chopped carrots into the pot, stirring it several times as he turned up the head, “Come on Peter. Felix is making you look bad.”

Peter huffed, swinging his legs over the armrest as he threw himself into the couch, “Why do I need to learn how to cook? You’ll do it for me for the rest of my life, right?” His eye twitched, realizing that he really did end up having his father cook for him till the end of his life. He cleared his throat to fill the silence, standing up and walking over to Felix, “Maybe I should learn some cooking.”

“Wow, look at that. On your best behaviour for Felix,” Malcolm said mockingly, giggling to himself as he took a pitcher of homemade beef stock from the fridge, “It’s beef stew tonight. If you haven’t figured that out yet. This will need to simmer for a while. That will help tenderize the beef. Won’t be as nice as if we slow cooked it the entire day though.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, “Slow cooked?”

Malcolm shook his head slowly, huffing, “Why am I not surprised?” He gestured to the pot-like device by the sink, “Let’s start from the beginning here.”

As Felix obediently listened to Malcolm, Peter pulled away, feeling his phone buzz from a text message. He answered the phone, freezing when he saw the single word light up in front of him: _Fag._ He growled under his breath, hiding his fury while Felix and Malcolm were beside him. He tilted his head up, shutting his eyes and breathing slowly. Peter couldn’t be surprised with this. He maintained none of his friendships past high school, opting for affairs and temporary friends to amuse himself.

Peter looked back into the kitchen, watching Felix stir the pot, seasoning it slowly and tasting it as he went, goaded on by Malcolm. To see Felix so active, so outgoing, and even without a smile, _so happy_ , Peter knew this was worth it.

“You look like you had fun,” Peter said, sitting at the end of the bed while Felix sat at the head, tucked under the blanket with another book on his lap, “Dinner was good. Better than my dad’s stew.”

“I heard that!” Malcolm shouted, walking by.

Peter rolled his eyes, stopping halfway when he saw Felix _smile_. It was a good look on him.

“It was fun,” Felix murmured, playing with the cover of his book, “This has all been really fun. Thank you,” He was staring Peter in the eyes even though his head was bowed, “Thank you for spending time with me.”

“No problem,” He responded, “You can stay however long you want. I’ll talk to my father, get it sorted out.”

“I can’t.”

Peter blinked, “Why?”

Felix turned away, kneading at the book with both hands, “You’ve…done too much. I can never repay you,” He glanced over at Peter’s pocket where his phone peeked out, “And, I know your friends a-are saying things because you’re spending time with me,” He shook his head, shutting his eyes, “I won’t let you go through _this._ ”

“I’ll go through anything,” Peter said, “Anything to save you.”

Felix’s eyes widened, lips dropping open, staring at Peter like he was radically absurd. _I don’t need saving_. The words never left Felix’s lips. His eyes were moist, mouth closing into a tight, painful smile as he nodded quickly, “ _Peter_ ,” He whispered, leaving the blanket, inching closer to Peter, “I…”

“Whoa! Whoa! Break it up!” Malcolm shouted, storming in, frightening Felix back to his side of the bed, “No funny business with my son, got it?” Malcolm said, pointing at Felix but clearly lighthearted, “And you, no funny business with my protégé, got it?”

“P-Protégé?” Peter choked out the word, “What about me?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, arms folded, “You couldn’t even make toast.”

While Peter bickered with his father, Felix returned to his book, a joyful peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time filling him.

**Saturday February 13 th, 2010**

_Monday. Death day._ Peter circled the day in his agenda, leaning back in his chair and shutting his textbook, halfway done with his homework. He draped a hand over his eyes, humming to himself as he went through the police report in his memory: Felix, butchered, tortured, tossed in a well, discovered well after his death. The murder weapon, a metal, Easton Baseball bat, out of production. Suspects, his mother, unhinged and violent. The Darlings, shady business men with mob-like links. Michael Darling, the supposed friend, Peter’s murderer in the future. Who else could he suspect?

_Dad. His hatred for Felix was intense but explainable due to his rough history with Marilyn. Was his father capable of murder?_

_Rufio. Devin. Anyone from school. They were malicious but not murderers, right?_

It could always have been a random attack. Some psycho kidnapping a vulnerable, weak-bodied boy like Felix, subjecting him to torture before tossing him away. His gut feeling told him otherwise. This person knew Felix, wanted him to suffer before killing him. He choked out a laugh, tossing his pencil onto the desk. Someone who wanted to make Felix suffer for his own amusement and throw him away when he was done, _it sounded like Peter himself._ Peter could recall exactly what happened during Felix’s disappearance and death, so he knew for sure that he wasn’t the killer, as if that was an option to begin with.

The memories were hazy, but Peter could recall: Despite putting Felix through hell, despite despising every moment he had to spend with him, Peter found himself racked in sobs, curled up in his room wailing for hours. He deceived himself into thinking Felix ran away but when his mother told him the truth, Peter broke down, shut himself off, so uncharacteristic of the Peter everyone knew. He wondered if this was the one moment of his previous life where he was _honest_ with himself.

He retrieved his science homework from his backpack, spreading it out on the desk. Peter wouldn’t put himself through that pain again, wouldn’t put Felix through this suffering. He would save him. He would.

_But what if he failed?_

Peter remained still, staring into his laptop monitor, seeing his failure so vividly since he had lived it before. At the least, Peter bowed his head, he’d make this a weekend Felix would never forget. He pushed himself away from his desk, opening his closet door and sorting through his things, withdrawing a sleeping bag and an old tent sloppily packed away in its container. Felix wanted Neverland. He’d _get_ Neverland.

“We are not going on a camping trip,” Malcolm said, folding his arms while Peter pouted angrily in front of him, “What about your homework?”

“I’m already finished and Felix is nearly done,” He gestured up the stairs where Felix remained in his room going through his homework, “It won’t be a full blown camping trip, just hanging around in the nearby camping ground. Just for tonight. We’ll be back in the afternoon tomorrow.”

“Ah, no,” Malcolm said, “I’m not letting you go alone. You’ll get hypothermia and do _god knows_ with Felix.”

Peter huffed, “No way. No adults allowed. It’s supposed to be Neverland!”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, “What the heck?”

“It’s something Felix—it’s complicated, alright?” Peter said, “Please? Don’t make me do puppy eyes.”

“I’m coming with you, no questions,” Malcolm said, shutting down his attempted cuteness with a harsh look, “ _But_ , I’ll keep my distance. Let you make your _Neverland_ ,” He said, twiddling his fingers in the air to highlight the absurdity of the word. His eyes peered upward, waving lazily to the top of the stairs, “Peter’s got a surprise for you. You’re going camping!”

Peter whipped around, wide smile on his face as he dashed up the stairs, Felix gasping in fear and immediately retracting back into his room when he was caught eavesdropping.

 

The camping grounds were dead silent, the winter weather discouraging people from camping. Peter was still there though, setting up heat lamps and campfires all around to keep the place warm. His father was just down the path, resting in his car with the comfort of his tablet and phone. Peter kept it minimal, just ovens, insulated tents, thick blankets, and sleeping bags.

“It’s cold out,” Felix said, shivering a bit as he bundled himself up tighter, sitting close to the bonfire they built beside the charcoal oven, “Why are we camping?”

Peter sat close beside him on the thick blanket they laid out, “You know, no adults, no rules, just us boys in a forest. Just like Neverland, right?”

Felix’s face reddened immediately, “Y-You read that?” He gasped, “You saw the drawings too?” Peter nodded, “You—what.. Peter. Oh. Oh my…” He shook his head, “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Why would I?” Peter responded, taking out a pack of sausages from a duffel bag and unwrapping them, tossing the links onto the grill.

Felix watched him inquisitively, confused, conflicted with this image of Peter that he always had. He shrugged weakly, sorting through the duffel bag and taking out a couple buns to toast over the grill, “It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” He said, absently turning over the buns as they toasted, “Too afraid or too _stupid_ to help myself but fine with fantasizing about being taken away.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done. You were a kid,” Peter responded, watching the sausages, wondering how his father was doing with his thermos of leftover soup. The thought reminded him of the treat he packed away, taking out a thermos of his own from the duffel bag and pouring two large mugs of hot chocolate and handing it over to Felix. The boy took it with a small smile, holding it close to his body to keep him warm, “I wished I was smarter back then. I could’ve saved you and we wouldn’t have drifted apart.”

Felix shrugged, “I pushed you away. We didn’t drift apart. The hatred, the bullying—” His breath hitched, “That was my punishment for roping you into this.”

Once upon a time, Felix was everything to him and losing his everything, his best friend shutting him out for reasons Peter couldn’t understand back then, destroyed him. How a closely kindled friendship became such bitter hatred. How Peter could amuse himself at the thought of Felix getting solicited by random men through a calling card. How Peter could humiliate him with a false relationship and display it to the world. _How Peter could cast him away when he was about to kill himself._

“It’s not punishment,” Peter said, guiding Felix’s mug away, staring at him intensely, eyes alit with reflections of flickering flames, “I was… spurned.”

 _Spurned_ , like a lover?

Felix tore away, shaking his head, “N-No. You don’t understand.”

This was the first time Peter understood _everything_ , eyes growing wide, reaching out to Felix, “Felix.”

“I…didn’t want to be your friend. I just wanted to use you,” Felix blurted out, fingers kneading on the blanket tucked over his lap.

Peter didn’t catch it at first, didn’t even let it register in his mind due to how nonsensical it was until Felix didn’t laugh it off, “What?” Peter retracted his hand slowly.

“I wasn’t bringing you over because I wanted to be your friend,” Felix said, unable to look at Peter, “I brought you over because your mother was the sheriff. I didn’t like you, at all,” He crumpled a bit, guilty and weak, “I hated you, hated how easy you made everything.”

With what he knew now, Peter could piece it together. _Felix was abused by his mother._ He lived in a shabby apartment forever in a state of dilapidation. Felix’s mother was never home, enjoying herself in the city while her son took care of himself in their shitty apartment. He was too broken to speak up, too frightened to save himself, so he brought Peter over despite his feelings and hoped that he would tell his mother.

“You wanted me to tell my mother about what I saw,” Peter said, remembering Felix’s long sweaters to cover the bruises, even in the summer, remembering the stench of uncleanliness that wafted from his home and stuck to the frail boy, “You wanted her to arrest your mother and take you away.”

Felix nodded, clenching onto his sleeve now to prevent his fingers from trembling, “It was so hard. I had to smile even when it hurt, even when seeing you happy made me hate myself, had to clean myself until I thought my skin would come off, had to do my best to hide my pain, _anything for you to like me_ ,” He shut his eyes, hanging his head, “But your mother left the family and I just couldn’t pretend anymore. I thought nothing would ever get better, and it didn’t,” A serenity filled the air uncharacteristic of Felix’s distress, “So I just accepted it.”

And just like that, Felix returned to numbness.

“I see,” Peter said, turning away, “That’s why you stopped talking to me, because I couldn’t help you anymore.”

“ _No_.”

Peter perked up, looking to Felix and taken aback by the _strength_ reflecting in his eyes, “Peter, I…” He trailed off, “…Your friendship meant everything to me, even when I thought I hated you. But I couldn’t,” He stuttered over his words, “I couldn’t give anything back, didn’t fit in your world. So I tried to distance myself but you kept trying so hard to pull me close,” He hung his head, hiding his face under his hood, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to my mother,” Peter replied, “I’m sorry I didn’t work harder to be your friend.”

Felix straightened immediately, eyes frantic as he met Peter’s gaze, “You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Peter said, firm, seven years of guilt building up to this moment, his absolution, “You were crying out for help and I turned you away.”

“No, no, no, don’t say tha—” Felix froze when Peter’s hand came up, covering his mouth, silencing him.

“I forgive you,” Peter said, all of Felix’s cruel words to his only friend evaporating.

Peter’s hand drifted down, tracing over Felix’s mouth and staying at his jaw, holding him close. Felix didn’t fight it, gaze softening while his face remained red and hot, “Peter?” He said. Peter hummed back, not moving, “When you invited me over to _record that video,_ I knew it wasn’t real but,” His expression looked pathetic but _happy_ in its own crooked away, “I knew you were faking when you pretended to like me, knew you were probably plotting something to mess with me. I just couldn’t resist, even if the affection was fake, _I really wanted to be close to you_.”

The distance between them was already closed before either was aware of what happened. The kiss was too quick, but Peter was anxious, afraid that Felix would reject him. He pulled away, their lips splitting with a quiet pop while Felix stared at him, unreadable. Peter was scolding himself, telling himself that he should’ve held it longer, _let Felix respond._ He looked away, tapping at his legs absently before gasping at his burning dinner. He grabbed the sausage with tongs, waving it helplessly while Felix watched on.

“Ah, damn it!” He shouted, throwing the burning sausages into a thin pile of snow on the ground, “Dad’s never going to let me hear the end of it,” He stood, pretending to pace around the camp while really trying to formulate what he had just done, “We’ve got more sausages right?”

Felix said nothing, leaping to his feet, chasing after Peter, throwing his arms around him, kissing back like his life depended on it. He held Peter tight against him as if the boy would float away if he let go. Peter returned the hold, holding Felix’s slight, narrow frame, protecting it from the harsh winter, tasting his lips and finding sweetness despite his dilapidated form. Peter always forgot how tall Felix was, towering over him when they were close. Peter was on his toes, eager to reach him while Felix responded by bending down further, deepening their kiss.

Peter hummed, stroking Felix’s cheek with one gloved hand as his eyes slid shut.

**Sunday February 14 th, 2010**

Felix hadn’t said a word to him since last night, after the two snacked on hot dogs and went to sleep in the tent. The two were packing away their things in dead silence. Peter swallowed, constantly trying to meet Felix’s eyes and figure him out but finding the boy gazing away at every chance. He sighed quietly, hoping he didn’t ruin everything.

“Morning, boys,” Malcolm said, stretching as he approached the two, “Something happen between you two? You’re awfully quiet,” He gasped, loud and comically, “Please tell me you used protection!”

Peter stuttered, dropping his sleeping bag, “N-Nothing like that happened!”

“Yeah I figured. It’s too cold out here for that,” Malcolm replied, absently chuckling when Peter punched him in the arm. He glanced over to Felix, curious when the boy stopped packing and looked to him with an unsure gaze, “What’s up, Felix? You look like you have something on your mind.”

Felix really did. This was the first time Peter was able to look at his face.

“Did you drop by last night to check on us?” Felix asked, voice low but louder than he usually was.

Malcolm quirked a brow, “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

Felix looked down, shaking his head slightly, scanning the campsite, “Just…thought I heard you out here last night.”

Peter stiffened, hair on his neck standing, heart beating erratically. _Someone was here watching Felix. Who? The murderer? How did they know we were here?_ He blinked, marching around the campsite looking for footsteps, “Did you see them?” Peter asked, walking up to Felix, “When did it happen?” Felix said nothing, stumbling back and immediately distracting himself with packing up a nearby electric stove.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._ Peter growled under his breath, sitting in the back of the car, staring at Felix who kept his eyes glued to the window, desperate not to meet Peter’s gaze. Even when they returned home and unpacked, even when Felix was _talking to his father_ , he would not speak to Peter. It seemed like everything was going well. It seemed like Peter had made the right move yet somehow, another rift had opened between them.

After all the unpacking, showers, breakfast, and settling in done without any eye contact, Peter could not stand it anymore. He barged into Felix’s room, the usually trembling boy looking to him with a thoughtful expression, hands still as he stood slowly.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Peter said, shutting the door behind him, lips pressed tightly together.

Felix looked away but just briefly, eyes meeting Peter’s again, “Last night was great. I’ve never been so happy,” He smiled, brilliantly, “Everything has been great, really. I just—”

“You don’t have to give anything back to me,” Peter said, stepping forward, “You don’t have to do anything for me,” He paused, mind searching and racing yet so slow, unable to find the answer, “This isn’t a trick. I’m not luring you in to hurt you. I-I I’m not pitying you?” He reached out, taking Felix’s shoulders, feeling no resistance, “This isn’t a game. Not like before.”

Felix’s hands were brittle against his face yet so warm, so abnormally warm, “I know,” Felix said, “I want to take it slowly,” He looked away, ashamed, “Please.”  

 _It’s more fun if we take it quickly._ The words were on Peter’s tongue, their effectiveness on Felix predicted perfectly in his head. He knew Felix would swoon at the words which was exactly why Peter resisted. Felix needed his space, needed to clear up years and years of emotional issues. Peter nodded, released Felix, “Okay,” He said, simple, clean, finding himself smothered by a hug, breathing in Felix’s musty sweater, smiling.

“Whoa!” The door swung open, Malcolm stumbling in and collapsing face first into the floor. He leapt to his feet quickly, brushing himself off with a loud clearing of his throat, “No big deal. Just spying on you two. Making sure nothing was happening.”

“You really need to stop ruining our moments,” Peter scoffed out, hanging onto Felix when he felt a rumble of laughter in his chest. Nonetheless, he released Felix, giving him a pat on the chest before backing off, returning to his room to relax.

**Monday February 15 th, 2010. Death Day**

When Peter handed in his art assignment early alongside Felix, he could feel victory at his fingertips. If he doesn’t reject Felix, if he doesn’t go home alone, no one will be able to steal him away. His kidnapper wouldn’t have a moment of weakness to exploit. He looked over to Felix, seeing fate changed. He texted his father quickly, asking for him to pick them up after school, minimizing even the slightest chance they get attacked on their way home.

“Peter, what the fuck is going on?”

He stopped, glaring harshly at his friends, Rufio and Devin both in tow. Felix looked to them, bowing his head sullenly as he stood beside Peter.

“You treated Felix like shit for so long. What’s up with this change of heart?” Devin hissed, glaring at Felix and almost offended when he returned a firm look, “What are you looking at?”

Felix met his eyes briefly, turning away with a dismissive look, “Nothing of value.”

Devin rushed forward, reaching for Felix’s collar but getting pulled back immediately by his friends when a teacher stepped by in the hall, “Talking back to me?”

“Back off,” Peter growled, stepping forward but never in front of Felix, “Things are changing.”

Devin closed in, voice a hiss as he nearly spat in Peter’s face, “Always knew you were a queer.”

Peter didn’t flinch, not this time, not with Felix behind him, hands calmly sitting in his sweater pocket, “And what of it?” Peter said, backing off, so infuriatingly confident as he turned Felix’s shoulders, took him by the face, and kissed him firmly.

Devin was without words, stuttering and slow, “O-Oh my god.”

Rufio was nearly bursting into laughter, “ _Oh my god_!”

Felix didn’t respond, eyes wide and panicked before Peter pulled away, smiling dreamily at him before smirking at Devin, folding his arms, “Well?” Peter announced, “You got a problem?”

Devin blinked, huffing weakly, twisting around Peter and walking past him, bumping shoulders briefly. A couple friends followed along, none of whom Peter remembered their names. This left Rufio and a small group who stayed by Peter. Rufio made a quick glance to the crowd around him before looking to Peter, “Sorry about—you know, abandoning you.”

“It’s fine,” Peter responded, looking to the small group that lingered.

The curly haired one, Peter believed his name was Cory, quickly offered Felix a handshake before Simon, the slightly aggressive one, smacked Cory’s hand away and shook Felix’s first. Felix looked over to Peter, given him an awkward smile as he slowly slinked his way over.

It would never be enough, never enough to make up for what Peter did to Felix. As the two sat beside each other in the basement eating lunch with Rufio beside them prattling on about show choir, Peter and Felix sat against the wall contemplating their next actions.

“You’re not mad about that, right?” Peter asked, “I know you said to take it slow.’

“It’s… fine,” Felix said, “I think you got your point across.”

Peter snickered, rubbing absently at his knee, “You think so?” He looked over to Rufio, oblivious that the two had tuned his conversation out, “I figured some of the boys would be okay with this. I mean, I’m pretty sure Simon and Cory would’ve gotten together if I wasn’t such an asshole,” He scoffed at himself, “I feel like a grown up.”

“I like it,” Felix said, smiling, tilting his head to touch Peter’s, “I like it a lot,” Even if this was all another cruel trick, Felix would be okay with this. For just a single, fleeting moment of security, Felix would suffer through everything for it. Right now, despite his declaration from yesterday, _Felix really wanted to kiss Peter again_.

 

“I can’t believe you did that in public,” Malcolm said, sitting on Peter’s chair while his son was splayed on his bed, having plopped on shortly after his father drove him home.

“It was romantic, excuse you,” Peter said, folding his arms and rolling onto his side.

“When did this even come to be?” Malcolm asked, “You and Felix?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was always there,” Peter said, rolling onto his side, balling up his blanket and hugging it firmly, “I just felt like something horrible was going to happen if I didn’t do anything.”

Malcolm raised a brow, “Horrible? What do you mean?”

Peter’s eyes fell upon his bag where the police report was hidden away. It felt like forever since he started his second journey through high school. He wished he could tell his father, but who would believe him? He looked to the ceiling, smiling absently, “Nothing,” He said, “Just a gut feeling.”

“Be careful, okay?” Malcolm said, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair, “Felix has a lot of baggage. Make sure you’re well equipped to handle that,” He stood, “And remember, I’ll always be here to help you.”

A smile stretched across his face unconsciously, “Thanks Dad.”

Peter almost returned to his homework till he heard his father call out. He stepped back inside, checking under the bed and in the closet wordlessly. Peter snickered, crossing his arms, “What are you doing?”

“Where’s Felix?” Malcolm said, acting coy, “Was he hiding in here with you?” He blinked, confused at how pale Peter suddenly got, “What’s the matter?”

Peter leapt to his feet, grabbing his phone, charging into the guest room and finding it empty. All that was left was Felix’s backpack and his cellphone charging against the wall, “Felix!” He shouted, running downstairs, searching the living room. Felix’s shoes and jacket were missing, “N-No, no, no,” Peter mumbled repeatedly.

“Slow down!” Malcolm exclaimed, running after Peter and grabbing his shoulders, “What’s going on?”

“We need to find Felix!” Peter shouted, panicking, _shaking_ , “Help me find him. _Please_.”

Peter felt needy, dragging his father out in his car, driving him all over Storybrooke looking for Felix. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for, _who_ he was looking for. He didn’t know Felix’s captor, didn’t know what to look out for. He ended up driving by the Darling estate, seeing nothing out of the ordinary through the gates and windows.

“What is happening?” Malcolm asked, finding a reprieve in heavy traffic, “What’s going on?”

Peter looked to his father, an odd expression on his face that Malcolm had never seen before. He looked away, scratching absently at a fraying thread in his coat, “I felt like…” He paused, “Felt like something bad was going to happen to Felix today.”

Malcolm tapped his finger against the steering wheel, humming thoughtfully before he spoke, “You ever get that feeling that you’ve experienced this before, like you know what’ll happen in the future so you’re doing everything you can to stop it?” Malcolm’s words made Peter flinched. He looked at his father, wide-eyed, “I get that too,” He said as he smiled back at his son, “So you don’t have to pretend. I understand.”

Peter didn’t tell him everything, but he was damn close to. He left out the police report, left out the details, but he described everything else. This was the day of Felix’s disappearance which would lead to his eventual death. Peter talked about how he survived this, filled with guilt and self-hate for casting Felix aside despite how badly Felix needed help.

Malcolm nodded, understanding, even when Peter sounded like a madman. The peace of his father’s reaction bled into the world, calming Peter like his father always did. Malcolm pulled into their driveway, gasping, “Look at that,” He said, finding Felix standing at the front door, grocery bags in hand.

Peter promptly lunged out of the car and tackled Felix into the snow.

“W-What?” Felix stuttered out, dropping his groceries as he wrestled Peter off him, “What’s going on?”

“Where were you?” Peter said, voice breaking, expression desperate, “ _God_ , I thought you were in danger.”

Felix blinked, still confused, looking over to Malcolm several times hoping for answers, “I went to get groceries. I wanted to…make something,” He narrowed his eyes, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Don’t disappear like that!” Peter shouted, climbing over Felix, hands on either side of his head as he fought the tears. _Peter thought he failed_ , that he lost Felix forever just like the first time. He smiled, hanging his head and clutching Felix close, “Don’t leave me.”

The panic subsided quickly, Felix reached up with steady hands, holding Peter close, “I won’t.”

Despite picking up groceries with his own money, it was still Malcolm who cooked everything, putting together spaghetti and meat sauce with the ingredients Felix picked. Felix was counting his wallet, stuffing it into his sweater pocket when he realized how little he had before continuing his dinner.

“Why don’t you work at the convenience store with me?” Malcolm asked, sprinkling fresh parmesan on his spaghetti, “It could serve as rent. Could also get you a bit more spending money.”

Felix looked up from his meal, eyes flickering nervously, “I can…stay here?”

Malcolm smirked, looking over to his son shooting him a death glare, “I think my son would kill me if I didn’t,” He chuckled lightly, “And why not? You’ve proven yourself somewhat useful. I can keep an eye on you too, in case you get into trouble,” He looked to his son, giving him a knowing wink before turning back to Felix, “What do you say?”

Ears blushing, smile shaky, Peter honestly had never seen Felix so happy as he bowed his head and nearly wept out his thank you. Peter promptly intercepted Felix’s hug, grabbing onto his friend instead and sticking his tongue out at his father, mouthing out a _‘mine’_ before sitting Felix back at his seat. Malcolm wrinkled his nose in response, stabbing a meatball from Peter’s plate and chomping on it with his chin propped up on his hand.

Although Peter promised to take it slow, although Felix asked for it to happen, Peter couldn’t say no when Felix came to his door just before Peter went to sleep, knocking on it twice and watching Peter was desperate eyes and baited breath. Peter opened the door wider, let him in, before shoving him backwards onto his bed and crushing their bodies together, hands groping and lips desperate to taste the other.

“Did you really think I was in danger?” Felix asked.

“Of course,” Peter responded, lips meeting Felix’s again, “You scared me. I hope you plan on making up for it,” He took Felix’s hands, lips brushing against the back of his knuckles.

Felix nodded in the darkness, daring to roll Peter underneath him, “Of course I will.”

A thump was heard against the wall, “Keep it down!” Malcolm shouted through the wall.

Felix and Peter promptly collapsed against each other, holding their snickers in while sharing their warmth under the blankets.

 

With Felix snuggled up beside him in bed, Peter kept his eyes glued to the clock, waiting for the numbers to flicker, waiting for tomorrow to come. He took a deep breath, looking to Felix once before looking back at the clock, breath coming out as a laugh when the 12 O’clock flashed at his face. Peter did it. He saved Felix from death day. For one moment of his new life, Peter honestly thought his ordeal was over.


	2. Silver Eyes

**Tuesday March 2 nd, 2010**

It came without fanfare. Felix was happily working with Malcolm in the convenience store, paying rent and making money without hurting himself. Felix’s school life had improved; his circle of friends grew, as it did with Peter. Even Devin grew past this, accepting Peter once more but maintaining his distance. It wasn’t school that would continue to terrorize Felix.

Peter drummed his fingers against his knee, staring at Felix who remained glued to the book in his hands. His eyes scanned the train car, finding “Neal” a couple seats down from then. His eyes returned to Felix, a pout evident on his lips as he leaned in and rested his chin on Felix’s shoulder. The taller boy calmly looked to him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yes?” Felix said, putting the bookmark into his book and shutting it gently.

“I have a question for you,” Peter said, expression revealing not one tiny bit of joviality.

Felix nodded back, bowing his head a bit in confusion, “What is it?”

Peter wasn’t sure if Felix was playing coy but nonetheless, he was going to ask, “Do you have a crush on my dad?”

Flustered, Felix could do little else than sputter pointlessly as Peter’s glare drilled into him, “N-no-no!” He shouted, blushing to his ears, betraying his true feelings.

“I knew it!” Peter exclaimed, uncaring of the other passengers in the train watching them.

“No!” Felix shouted, covering Peter’s mouth, “I just spend a lot of time with Malcolm.”

“ _Malcolm_ ,” Peter stretched out his father’s name like the word was vulgar, “I’m getting a job at the convenience store too,” Peter nearly sprinted out when the train arrived at their station, Felix in tow.

Peter wondered if Felix could run like this before, wondered if spending time with Felix, feeding him properly, had given his body new strength. He slowed himself, letting Felix catch up and tackle him down, immediately feeling extra weight from when he first held Felix, the boy feeling wispy in his hands. He held him tight, pleased at the slight bulk of Felix against his.

Felix poked his head up, realizing he had pushed Peter into a nearby lawn, “S-Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, reaching up, pressing a thumb to Felix’s lips, coaxing him in for a kiss. Felix quickly responded, lowering himself, tasting Peter’s lips without any care for the bystanders.

As soon as the two arrived at their front door, Peter swung it open declaring, “Dad! Felix likes you!”

Felix flinched, shuddering visibly, “Sh-Shut up!” He shouted, blood running cold when he saw a familiar pair of shoes at the door. He stopped at the welcome mat, breath caught in his throat, “P-Peter…”

“What is it—” Peter said, stopping when he investigated the living room. Peter’s heart dropped through the floor when he saw his father seated on the couch, nose bloodied, coughing weakly, rubbing at his bruised eye while a tall, wild-eyed man with golden snarls of hair held him down by his shoulders, a _metal bat_ sitting beside his leg.

A woman came around with matching snarls and wild eyes. Immediately, all the confidence and strength drained from Felix’s stature. Peter’s mouth dropped at the sight, seeing that frail, shivering boy he once bullied from long ago where Felix stood. His mouth clicked shut as he stepped in front of Felix, blocking him with his body.

“This where you’ve been hiding all this time?” Marilyn said, folding her arms, clicking her cheap manicure together, “Shacking up with my old flame.”

“Shut up. We were never a real thing,” Malcolm growled, flinching violently when the man behind him dug his fingers into a bruise on his shoulder, “Peter. Get out of here.”

“Not so fast,” The man said, reaching into his pocket, taking out a box cutter, “Take a single step and I cut your father’s eyes out.”

Peter flinched at the threat, hate coursing through him but unable to act. Felix couldn’t even move, eyes glued to the ground, body overcome by unstoppable tremors. He took Felix’s hand, coaxing him inside, stroking his cheek gently. He shut the door behind them as he guided Felix inside slowly.

“What do you want?” Peter said.

Marilyn threw herself backwards onto a nearby couch, looking playfully over at Malcolm who involuntarily sat beside her, “Just thought I’d pay _Mal_ a visit,” She reached out, stroking Malcolm’s knee too affectionately, “He is taking care of our kid after all.”

“ _Our_?” Peter choked out involuntarily.

“You are _not_ her kid,” Malcolm said, “And Felix is not mine,” He swatted absently at the hand on his shoulder.

Marilyn shrugged, “Who knows? Not like we ever had him tested,” She gestured at Felix, “Come on over. Sit next to mom.”

Peter caught Felix’s wrist before he made it past him. He yanked him back, behind him, “Hell no. He’s not coming near you,” His resolve faltered when the older man pressed the blade of the box cutter against Malcolm’s cheek. His grip remained firm though, unable to let Felix fall back into this cesspool.

“Sit next to your mother, you brat,” The man growled.

“Who the hell are you anyway?” Peter responded, still hanging onto Felix.

Felix’s arm twitched under Peter’s grip, “He’s my uncle.”

“On parole, of course,” Malcolm said, the slightest chuckle in his throat, “Classy as always, Mikey. You want me to call up the cops? My ex-wife certainly didn’t miss seeing you,” He growled in pain, gripping at the hand digging into an injury on his collarbone. He reached to swat the hand off his thigh only to have that hand wrenched back painfully by the man behind him.

“Don’t hurt him!” Felix blurted out, reaching forward, frozen in place suddenly when both his mother and uncle glared at him.

Marilyn let out a short laugh, malicious and low, “Sure. Call the cops. I’ll be sure to tell them all about how you kidnapped my son. How you’re _grooming him_ for yourself.”

“Keep your sick fantasies to yourself,” Malcolm hissed.

“Or how about what you and I got away with so long ago?” She said, smirking when Malcolm jerked away in disgust.

“What the hell do you even want?”

“There’s a lot of things I want. But right now,” Marilyn looked back at Felix, eyes wide and hungry, “I want my son to come over and sit next to me,” She gave the seat next to her a pat, “Come over here, Felix.”

It was painful when Felix pulled away from Peter’s grip. He felt like everything he fought for to this moment, saving Felix from his fate, was lost in these few seconds. Peter shut his eyes tight, cringing when Felix slipped away from his grip. He jerked away, hand over his mouth, fighting the urge to vomit until he was distracted by his front door, _curiously open._

“You won’t hurt them, right?” Felix said, puttering over pathetically, trying to make each step between himself and his mother shorter and shorter. He squealed when she reached forward, grabbing his wrist and yanking him forward, snarling when Felix resisted, “Promise me.”

“Sit down, boy!” Mikey barked, nicking Malcolm’s cheek with the box cutter.

“Hey, watch it!” Marilyn hissed at her brother, attention finally off Felix, shoving the box cutter away from Malcolm for just a second.

It was all Malcolm needed to lunge forward, tackling Felix around the waist and away from his crooked family. He shoved the boy forward, trying to scramble forward himself only for the back of his neck to meet a firm metal strike. He cried out, crumpling onto the ground as Mikey towered over him, metal bat in hand, readying a second strike. Malcolm forced himself up, one arm around Felix, shielding him with his entire body.

Peter leapt forward, above Felix, above his father, grabbing the bat, struggling with the large man while Marilyn came forward with the box cutter. Peter couldn’t let go, couldn’t let his father get hit again. He shut his eyes tight, “Oh shit—”

A hand from nowhere struck Mikey across the face, stunning him before a knee to the gut sent him to the ground. Peter watched with wonder as Neal put Marilyn and Mikey down quick, the two scampering out when Neal pulled back and simply stared them down. Mikey spat on the floor as he left, throwing an obscene gesture before rushing out the door. Peter swallowed heavily, suddenly reminded of his own death, of Michael Darling’s own speed. Without words, Neal shooed their assailants out, whipping out a cellphone and making a call to his employer.

“Th-Thanks,” Peter choked out, watching Neal step out to make the call without acknowledging his presence. He looked back at his father who lay on the ground, groaning and weak. Felix was already by his side, pressing his scarf into a gash on the back of his head, “Dad!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” He choked out, getting up slowly, climbing off Felix and slumping against the wall, “I’ve been through worse. Just get me some ice.”

Felix was quick to follow his orders, rushing into the kitchen. Peter remained by his father’s side, surveying the damage, “We need to call the cops,” He said.

“No,” Malcolm said, contrasting his tone when he was held hostage in the living room.

“But you said—”

“ _No._ We can’t call the cops. We can’t tell anyone,” Malcolm responded, “Not even your mother.”

“They threatened you with a box cutter,” Peter said, mind racing as he thought about the _metal bat_ in Mikey’s hands, “He could have killed you. Could’ve killed Felix. We need to tell the cops right away!”

Malcolm took his son by the shoulder, his grip firm, almost painful, “We can’t. _Please_ ,” He bit down on his lip, a sudden wave of nausea coming over him, “Do you remember when you told me about knowing the future and finding a way to prevent it?” Peter froze, his current train of thought completely obliterated, “This is why we can’t tell the cops.”

Peter released his father, understanding all too well. He backed off, watching Felix come over to his father’s side and bandage him up, pressing ice to his bruise while Malcolm dressed his wounds. Peter nearly fainted at the revelation, too much that he had forgotten finally coming back with a vengeance. He paused as his front door opened once more, Neal stepping in with a phone in his hands. Peter took it, despite the insistence for Felix, and stepped outside his home.

“It wasn’t me. I swear,” Peter said, hand on his hips, speaking to a man he wished to never meet again.

“I know. Neal told me the details. He said Felix’s mother and father were there?” Michael said.

“Uncle. Maybe father. Who knows how fucked up they were?” Peter responded, pacing outside the front of his house, “Thanks for taking care of it.”

“I haven’t taken care of anything. You need to get Felix to call the cops, get child services in this.”

“No cops,” Peter said, “It’s complicated.”

“More complicated than having two psychos in your living room threatening your father?”

“You of all people know how complicated it can get when the sheriff is breathing down your neck,” Peter snapped back.

“We’re not the mob. Please.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Of course, they were the freaking mob, “Give me some time.”

Michael hummed, pausing briefly, “Fine, but if I don’t see results. I’m going to step in, understand?” He didn’t wait for a response, hanging up immediately, knowing Peter understood.

Peter huffed, handing the phone back to Neal who stood quietly by the door. He rubbed at the creases between his brows, growling under his breath. Was he foolish to think this would be so easy? Peter stepped back into his home, finding Malcolm laying on the couch with Felix by his side, holding bloodied bandages and ice packs close by.

“Peter,” Malcolm choked out, turning slowly to face him, “Who helped us?”

“Neal. He’s just a friend,” Peter said, giving Felix a confirming nod.

“Didn’t know you were friends with ninjas,” Malcolm said, chuckling weakly before spitting out a spot of blood, “Ugh, this is a lot better than it looks. Really.”

“He’s a…” Felix faded when Malcolm’s eyes landed on him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, fighting the tremble, “He’s a friend,” He mumbled out, unable to meet anyone’s eyes, “Back from my old job.”

Peter reached out to Felix, reaching into his pockets to take his hands, holding them close despite how clammy and shaky they were, “We’ll figure this out,” He said, meeting Felix’s eyes, finding none of the strength they had built up together, “I promise,” He said, touching his cheek affectionately, “Right now, I need to speak to my dad in private. Is that okay?”

Felix nodded silently, leaving the supplies on the coffee table.

“Take a shower or do your reading,” Malcolm called out, “Just don’t do homework. That’ll make everything so much worse.”

Felix wanted to laugh, managing only a small smile as he made his way up the stairs and into his room. The mood returned to the solemn, grey tone it had before. Peter’s eyes met Malcolm’s, utterly serious and back to business. Malcolm sighed heavily, rubbing at his temples once.

“I guess it’s time we had _the_ talk, huh?” Malcolm said, drumming his fingers against the side of the couch, “Let me tell you about the first time it happened. _The replay_ ,” His eyes became soft, almost weak, “The first time you died.”

Peter flinched, nails digging into his knees, “What?”

Malcolm rubbed at his eyes, chuckling stupidly, “Your mother didn’t believe me when I told her. I’m sure it was part of the reason why we had a divorce. She thought I lost my mind. But you believe me, don’t you?”

Peter nodded, firm, “Always.”

“Only you,” Malcolm said, smiling, genuinely happy, “My son.”

Peter braced himself for the story. He doubt anyone in the world ever heard the story of their own death. His father told it quietly, pacing himself, describing what had led to his death: _When Felix rejected him as a child_. Despite the betrayal, Peter kept sneaking out, kept going over to Felix’s, kept begging for the door to open. The person to answer, the person to send Peter away was not Felix’s cruel mother but rather, _his father._ Tall, wild-eyed, even more so than Felix’s terrible mother, and psychotic. During one night, when Felix was beaten into submission in the living room and Peter spied him through the window, he snuck in and _attacked the older man_ , getting himself killed before being tossed into a construction site by a broken woman and buried under concrete.

Marilyn, a victim more broken than Felix was today, rushed to Malcolm, sobbing and desperate, begging him for help, telling him the truth of what happened to his son and what horrors she helped him accomplish. Overcome with grief, Malcolm shot himself with his wife’s gun.

_That was what happened the first time._

 

**Thursday June 3 rd, 1999**

“Sick fuck!” Malcolm growled, beating the bound man with a lead pipe, snarling when he didn’t respond, “Get up. I’m not finished with you!”

“Mal. Mal!” Marilyn shouted, yanking the man back, “Stop. He’s dead.”

Malcolm snickered, rubbing a spot of blood off his beard, “I’m not done though. I’m not,” He spat at the man’s barely existing face, kicking him hard in the stomach until the chair collapsed under the force, the lifeless corpse sprawling onto the ground, “You said you had a place to put the body?”

Lips crushed against his suddenly. In the heat and adrenaline, Malcolm ended up reciprocating the affection. He held Marilyn briefly but never forgot his fury. He released her, looking away, touching his mouth absently, “No problem,” He said.

“Thank you,” She followed up, staring at the bloodied body in disgust, spitting on him as well, “I got a place.”

Burning their clothes, their weapons, his body, the two took the remnants and threw them into a construction site, covering the remains with cement. No one would ever know. At least, _no one was supposed to know._

“Why is his ring in your car?” The sheriff, _his wife_ , was hysteric.

Malcolm had no satisfactory answer. He tried to explain. She rejected his truth, claiming that he had lost his mind. So Malcolm waited till she fell asleep, waited for her to ‘give him time’ to think it over. He took the evidence bag from her unsealed suitcase and threw it into the incinerator.

Trust broken in so many ways, this was the end of their marriage. In exchange for Peter’s life, Marilyn’s happiness, and Malcolm’s freedom, Malcolm lost the love of his life.

 

When Malcolm came to pick up Peter from school, Felix was still covered in bruises, still crippled and weak. Malcolm paid little mind to it at first till he met Marilyn again, loud and obnoxious, obsessed with him, holding their terrible, little deed over him.

_I didn’t save her. I set her free._

 

**Tuesday March 2 nd, 2010**

“Dad…” Peter choked out, hanging onto his father’s hands as he nearly broke down.

“We can’t tell the cops,” He said, “Or else she’ll tell them everything and your mother is going to vouch this. _Fuck_ ,” He growled, punching the headrest of the couch, “If I had another chance, I’d make sure they both died.”

It became obvious why Malcolm didn’t want to associate with Marilyn, why Marilyn seemed to think there was so much more between them then there actually was. Peter did this; Peter dragged his father back into his past all for Felix. He wondered if this was a test, wondered if Malcolm was destined to pay for his sins from the past.

“I’ll talk to Felix,” Peter said, standing up, “Do you need help getting up the stairs?”

“I’m fine. I’ll hang out down here,” Malcolm responded, rolling onto his side, holding ice over the bruise on his face, “Keep an eye out for Marilyn and her goon brother.”

When Peter went into Felix’s room, he half expected the boy to be sleeping, trying to ward off the image of his mother and uncle beating Malcolm in his own living room. Instead, Felix was pacing back and forth, nervously nibbling on the crook of his index finger. He looked to Peter, eyes wide and empty, filled with fear.

“I-Is he okay?” Felix stuttered out, shaking so hard.

“He’s fine,” Peter said, taking Felix’s shoulders, lowering him onto the bed, “It’s going to be okay.”

“We can’t tell the police,” Felix mumbled out. Peter narrowed his eyes, about to ask if Felix overheard their conversation downstairs, “I’ve done things…” He shut his eyes, fading off, “For my mother. For Mikey.”

Peter let out a deep breath, unsure if he was relieved that he didn’t have to explain their situation to Felix or frightened at the implications, “Look, Felix,” He rested a hand on his shoulder, immediately getting it rebuffed from the sheer trembling of Felix’s body, “We’ll figure this out. We’re not alone. And in the worst case, we have Michael Darling.”

Felix’s eyes suddenly flickered over to him, filled with darkness and spite that Peter wasn’t sure Felix was capable of, “Nobody would miss them.”

The implications weren’t immediate, but Peter picked it up quickly enough. He coughed loudly, shaking Felix out of his stupor, “Stop. No. We’re not going to kill them,” Felix deflated at his words, returning the crook of his index finger back into his mouth, nibbling on it nervously, “That’s the last resort, alright?” Knowing of what his father had done and their future if Felix died, there was enough blood staining this family, “We’ll figure it out.”

“This is my fault,” Felix mumbled out, sitting down on the bed, nearly biting through his finger.

“Stop!” Peter said, yanking his finger away, holding his hands tight, “Do you trust me?”

Felix swallowed, eyes flickering, breath shallow. Obviously, he didn’t but he nodded, faked a smile, anything to make Peter happy.

 

**Wednesday March 3 rd, 2010**

It had been so long since Peter opened the police report. Felix’s autopsy photos seemed worse now that he had rebuilt what he had lost with him. He turned them over, unable to stare at them for any longer. With his notes laid out, Peter scribbled something into his notebook: _Mikey_ , presumably the brother to Marilyn Forrester. He owned a metal bat and that was the only thing that tied him to the police report. Other than that, all evidence pointed to Marilyn. According to a small investigation, he wasn’t even in town during Felix’s disappearance. He only arrived in Storybrooke in March.

The list of suspects changed once more. It was plausible that Marilyn killed her son or perhaps Mikey did and the two tried to dispose of his body. Despite the investigation stating otherwise, it was clear not much effort was put into investigating him. It was clear they pegged Marilyn as the murderer right from the start. At the very least, Felix’s father was ruled out, due to his untimely death by his father’s hands.

_Dad…_ To save his life, he took another life. He ruined his marriage. He associated himself with a monster. Peter huffed loudly. His father was paying for his relationship with Felix, just like it was when they were younger. He ran a hand over his notes, curious if his father could squeeze just a little more out from this, if he could see patterns that everyone else missed with his relationship to Marilyn.

“I appreciate him standing guard, but could he be any less suspicious looking?” Malcolm said, gesturing towards Neal who sat in their front yard, casually reading the newspaper, “I feel like the mob.”

“It’s what Neal does,” Peter said, “Don’t worry about it. He’s cool.”

“He beat up two people double his size. I don’t doubt his ‘coolnesss’,” Malcolm responded, sitting at the coffee table, “What did you want to talk about?” His breath hitched when he saw Peter retrieve a police report from his bag, already aware what it contained, “What—whoa, put that away. Felix could walk in and see that.”

“He’s staying over at Rufio’s tonight. He needed to get away from this,” Peter said, “And we need to talk about _this,_ ” He opened the folder, spreading the paper across the table, “This is what I brought back from my time.”

Malcolm blinked at the sight, ghosting over the autopsy report and grotesque photos, “Felix’s death,” He murmured, looking at the investigation reports, “February 15th. _Ah.”_

“What is it?” Peter asked, curious at his father’s reaction.

“Just remembering why you were so scared that day,” Malcolm said, looking over to his son, “You thought someone had kidnapped him. Just like the notes say.”

“We passed that date. I thought this was over,” Peter said, hands gliding over the list of suspects, “At least, I thought it was. If we never catch the killer, then all I did was delay Felix’s death.”

Malcolm gasped at the sight of the metal bat, examining it carefully, “Could be Mikey’s. I didn’t get a good look at it,” He scanned the notes, hypnotized by how much detail was in the report. He stopped at a picture of Marilyn under the suspects report, “I wouldn’t be surprised. Crazy bitch.”

“It just seemed too simple,” Peter said. _It didn’t explain why Michael Darling would kill them in the future._

“This isn’t TV. Sometimes it is the most obvious perpetrator,” Malcolm said, patting his son’s shoulder, “But we can keep looking into it. We won’t know until we confirm who it is,” He rubbed at his eyes suddenly, a sad smile on his face, “I can’t believe my son’s the same as me,” He chuckled, empty and rough, “You have no idea what it was like. Having no one believe me but needing to go through all of this. _Actually,_ ” He smiled to his son, ruffling his hair affectionately, “You’re the only one who knows exactly what it was like.”

Peter didn’t tell him. Didn’t want him to know that he would die by Michael Darling’s hand in the future, especially when they were relying on Michael right now for protection. He gave his father his notes, both combing through it together, trying to find anything that stood out, eating pizza and drinking hot cocoa.

 

Felix hummed to himself, sitting on a bed with his knees to his chest. He left his books back at Peter’s home which left him with a pile of show choir scripts. He wanted to laugh at the lightness of the thought but couldn’t find any humour in his current situation. He squeezed his knees tightly, crushing his eyes shut, wishing he hadn’t brought so much suffering to Peter.

“Hey. You still up?” Rufio asked, poking his head into his room, turning on a lamp, “Must be boring sitting around in the dark like that.”

Felix gave him a half smile, fingers flexing in a pathetic attempt to wave. He couldn’t sleep knowing that Peter sent him away to protect him while Peter faced danger head on. He squealed when Rufio suddenly sat himself down on the bed, staring out the window with him.

“What happened? Did you get into a fight with Peter?” Rufio asked, splayed out on the bed casually, “You can tell me.”

_Could he? Really?_ Felix released the hold on his legs, leaning against the backboard, “No fight,” He mumbled out, “I just…I made things difficult for Peter and his father. It’s fine. We can handle it.”

“Let me know, alright?” Rufio said, sitting up, patting Felix’s shoulder, “We got your back. Maybe not Nicholas, he’s still getting his shit together ever since he lost his finger in shop class. The rest of us got your back though, alright?”

Felix nodded to him, lightness in his chest despite how dire his situation was.

“You know,” Rufio said as he approached the door, looking back, “I’m glad you and Peter made up. He’s gotten a lot less…obnoxious, you know? Don’t let him know I said that.” The two shared a brief chuckle before Rufio stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Felix remained where he was looking out the window but the strain in his chest and mind gone. He lay down in bed, hoping for the best as Rufio did, shutting his eyes and letting those lovely thoughts put him to sleep.  

 

**Saturday March 6 th, 2010**

With Felix at Rufio’s and Michael Darling providing free security, the weekday nights were uneventful. Peter and Malcolm spent hours combing through the reports, scribbling notes and building a conspiracy board with green yarn, despite Peter’s insistence that it had to be red.

The Darlings were still there. Their association with Felix was hazy at best and Peter couldn’t deny their involvement with his death in the future. Marilyn and Mikey became more suspicious, especially with the two so malicious in recent days. The bat was their next big target: They had to pinpoint where it came from. Malcolm pinned down a couple potential locations: Schools, old sport pubs, baseball enthusiasts. If nothing came out from their investigation, they could always start hunting down people on foot.

There was also the mysterious person who Felix claimed snuck up on them when they were camping. Peter questioned Neal about this and he denied any involvement at the camping grounds. It could have been Felix’s imagination, or it could have been someone else, _a stalker._

Or it could have been his father sneaking up on Felix, reciprocating his crush—

“Hell no!” Peter shouted at the top of his lungs, hurling his stack of notes into the wall, folding his arms with a huge pout.

“Uh, breakthrough?” Malcolm said, coming in with a glass of orange juice.

“Nothing,” Peter responded, sinking into the neck of his sweater, “Are you going for your morning shift?”

“Yeah. Felix is doing a shift too,” Malcolm said, sitting down on the couch, staring at their conspiracy board, “Reminds me of your mother’s office.”

Peter snorted, “That’s where I get it from, I guess,” He leaned back, “Can I come along?”

“You just want to see Felix,” Malcolm said, snickering when Peter turned away with a huff, “I miss him too.”

“I miss him more,” Peter sputtered out, “He’s mine. Got that?”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, confused, “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Good,” Peter said, kicking himself off the couch and heading out, “Come on. Let’s go.”

 

“So, Neal, thanks for hanging around with us,” Peter said, finally reaching out to the odd man following them around, “I mean, I figure this is probably really boring for you.”

Neal looked up at him, one brow up, almost mocking Peter’s default expression, “I get paid full wage to watch three people and beat up small time thugs. I say that’s pretty worth it.”

“Isn’t this boring though?” Peter asked, gesturing towards himself and Malcolm, “We won’t get into gunfights or whatever it is the Darlings get into.”

“The Darlings aren’t a mob.”

Peter rolled his eyes, seriously tired of the denial.

“Oh, hell no,” Malcolm said, stopping on the path before running towards the convenience store.

Peter broke off from Neal, running after his father and gaping at the letters painted in bright green on the convenience store window: M-A-L, with a crude heart drawn around it. Felix was out front, scrubbing at it desperately, spotting Malcolm and crumpling.

“I-I-I was trying to stop them,” He choked out, “They wouldn’t stop.”

“Are you hurt?” Malcolm said, taking Felix’s shoulders, immediately noting the bruise on his cheek, the cut of a ring on his cheek. He growled, taking the sponge from Felix, “Get inside. I’ll clean this off.”

Peter was quick to follow Felix, opening and sorting through the first aid kit when Felix was too shaky to do it himself. Neal was in the corner, sipping on a slurpee and reading a gardening magazine. Despite the unease he once gave him, Peter honestly felt safer with the strange man nearby than he was anywhere else. He lifted Felix’s chin, examining the bruise and carefully applying ointment.

“It’s my fault,” Felix mumbled out while Peter cleaned his wound, “They’re here because of me. They’re hurting your father because of me.”

It pained Peter to know that Felix wasn’t wrong. In the timeline where Felix died, Marilyn and Mikey never once tried to approach his father. They had leverage now, his son, and they were willing to terrorize Malcolm to get whatever they wanted from him. Peter shuddered in disgust, remembering how Marilyn couldn’t keep her hands off his father.

“It isn’t,” Peter lied, “She’d be here regardless of where you were.”

“I should go back to her. Then she’ll leave you both alone,” Felix choked out nonsensically.

“ _Stop_ ,” Peter said, grabbing Felix’s chin, staring into his eyes till they stopped quivering, “Stop it,” He said again, “This is not your fault. This will never be your fault. Alright?”

 The kiss was more instinctual than anything else. Felix closed in on his own, pressing a kiss to Peter’s lips, trying to stop his own from trembling. He pulled away quickly, staring into Peter’s eyes, trying to find strength. Peter wished he could provide but he was just as terrified. If Felix was guilty of bringing this pain down to his father, Peter was doubly so for leading both down this path, especially learning about what his father had done.

“It’s going to be okay,” Peter said, more so to convince himself than Felix.

Malcolm came in to the convenience store, wishing he could say something cheerful but found cleaning his hands of bright green paint more enticing.

 

Despite Malcolm’s insistence, Peter left Neal with him at the convenience store, opting to take Felix home to start on their weekend homework. He figured he should thank Michael Darling sometime but after all of this blew over. The last thing he needed was for the _Storybrooke Mob_ hunting him down. He laughed under his breath at how ridiculous that phrase sounded.

“What?” Felix said, curious at Peter suddenly laughing.

“Nothing. Just thinking about how stupid the ‘Storybrooke Mob’ sounds,” Peter said, coaxing Felix into joining him in laughter, “Was thinking I should thank Michael for lending us Neal.”

Felix shrugged at the thought, “I’m sure he’s doing this out of the good of his heart.”

“Mobster with a heart of—” Peter halted, finding himself frozen at the sight of his family home scrawled all over with graffiti, “What the fuck.”

Felix screamed, yanked away with an arm around his neck. He smacked pathetically at the body behind him, of his uncle hauling him back with a psychotic expression, “P-Peter!” He spat out, kicking weakly as his uncle dragged him onto his toes. Felix was tall, but this massive man dwarfed him.

“Let him go,” Peter said, firm, but mousy compared to this giant.

“Where’s Mal?” Mikey said, chuckling, “Geez. What’s the point when he’s not around?” He shoved Felix forward harshly, nearly knocking Peter over when he caught him.

Felix was trembling again, skin clammy as he clung to Peter pathetically, “L-Let’s go. Come on.”

“Hey! Asshole _,_ ” Peter barked at Mikey, firm even when the man turned around, curious look on his face, “You come near my father again and I—” He gasped, feeling Felix slip from his hands, yanked away by his uncle, “Let him go!”

“Sorry, what did you say?” Mikey said, eyes burning with something Peter couldn’t recognize. His hands were firm on Felix’s elbows, nearly crushing them. He rested his cheek against Felix’s head, almost purring when he spoke, “Nephew, what did he say?” Felix was shaking his head, eyes crushed tightly shut, groaning when his uncle pressed a firm kiss to his forehead, “That’s what I thought,” He responded, eyeing Peter’s horror and loving it. He shoved Felix again, this time downward so he’d tumble onto the ground.

Peter caught him properly this time, arms around Felix while the boy was taken over by unstoppable tremors, feeling so fucking helpless. He stared at the paint scrawled all over the windows, clenching his fists. The worst pain was that he’d have to bear this alone.

After dinner, the three pretending that the paint wasn’t there. Peter sat by the front steps, watching Neal who sat beside him, humming to himself. Marilyn and Mikey were only scared of Neal, scared of someone physically stronger than them. Otherwise, they were free to terrorize any of them.

“What would you do?” Peter asked, looking over to Neal who was happy spending him alone, “We can’t call the cops. We can’t outpower them without you. What would you do?”

Neal looked to him, “I don’t think you’d like my solutions.”

“I thought you weren’t part of the mob,” Peter responded.

“Never said I was the mob,” Neal responded, taking out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it absently, “Just said you wouldn’t like my solutions.”

From his pocket where he retrieved his lighter, Peter could see it: The shadow of a gun. Peter swallowed, looking forward, unsure how far he was willing to go. Could he kill to protect his father? _Could he kill to protect Felix?_ The questions were dizzying. Peter jerked away, nearly sprinting back into his home leaving Neal on the steps.

He stuttered when he entered, watching Felix sharing an intimate hug with his father, eyes shut and relaxed, “Am I interrupting something?”

Felix squeaked at the sound, pulling away only for Malcolm to yank him back into a hug, toothy smile on his face betraying none of his suffering, “Not at all! We were just sharing some physical intimacy that is not at all questionable.”

“That just makes it _so_ much more questionable!” Peter exclaimed, running over and yanking Felix away, hugging the boy tight against himself, eyes locked with his father even as he walked the two of them up the stairs and kicked his room door shut after them.

“Mm, Peter, I feel better now,” Felix said, still caught in Peter’s embrace while the boy remained latched around him with a pout, “Like, you can stop holding me now. My arm is getting numb.”

Peter remained latched around him firmly, “No way. I still don’t feel good.”

Felix chuckled lightly, bending down, cradling Peter lightly, “But really. I need to use the bathroom.”

Peter huffed, finally releasing Felix and watching the boy sit up, stretching slowly, “You okay?”

Felix paused, looking back at Peter with calm but quivering eyes, “I’ll be okay.”

“I didn’t mean to provoke him,” Peter said quickly, catching Felix’s wrist before he stood, “I’ll figure this out. Alright?”

Felix turned to him, kissing his forehead, “Thank you,” He said, standing up and leaving the room.

It was clear: Peter did nothing to fix Felix’s doubts. The boy was still terrified, and Peter could do nothing to reassure him, not him, not his father. Peter swore under his breath, fighting the urge to throw something against the wall. Being helpless was the worst kind of suffering.

 

**Sunday March 7 th, 2010**

Despite Peter’s insistence, Neal stayed at home with them. Malcolm would brave whatever Marilyn planned for him alone. Peter had no intention of following his father’s orders. As soon as he wrapped up his math assignment, as soon as Felix was distracted with his usual novel, Peter snuck out the back door.

“I know its not my place,” Neal said, startling Peter who was attempting to climb over the fence, “But your father asked you to stay.”

Peter huffed, “I know. I just want to make sure he’s okay,” Peter said, “I brought a disguise. He won’t know its me in there.”

Neal rolled his eyes, taking out a cigarette casually, “Do you have protection?”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Like…what?”

Neal was already rolling his eyes again, withdrawing a pocket knife from his jacket, “ _Protection_ ,” He dangled it in front of Peter’s face, “I’d hate for something to happen to you,” His tone was perfectly balanced on sarcasm and sincerity. Peter paid it no mind, smirking, pocketing the knife.

With Neal’s supposed blessing, Peter made his way to the convenience store. He scowled at the sight of it, already seeing the faded green paint from tomorrow brilliant in the sun light. He yanked his hood over his head, hiding himself under a pair of aviator sunglasses and a red scarf. He stepped in, non-descript, heading over to the magazine at the back of the store, far away from the register where his dad usually worked. He flipped through the magazines, eyes constantly searching the store for his father or his assailants.

“Freaking Leroy,” Malcolm grumbled, stepping out from the back with a mop in hand, placing it against the wall before returning to the cash register, unlocking it with a key around his neck.

Peter kept to himself, camping behind a snack shelf, pretending to be distracted with a magazine. He kept an eye on his father, watching as he took a bag of chips from the front shelf and opened it up, snacking on it lazily as he played some game on his phone. Peter narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was supposed to be doing this. Customers would come in, never lingering for too long, some making short conversation with Malcolm before leaving quickly with whatever they wanted.

In the future, or perhaps long ago, Peter despised this way of life, thought it was so _boring_. That was why he was so desperate to make it as a comic book artist, so desperate to break away from the mediocrity that was _his father._ The thought made his heart hurt. His father who killed to save his life, his father who went through the same replay that he was going through right now, his father who was protecting him and Felix even now. His father was anything but mediocre. It was a shame it took a lifetime to understand this.

“What are you doing back there?” Malcolm shouted, coming around the counter, no doubt suspicious of the strangely dressed man in the back.

Peter gasped, putting the newspaper down, “Just browsing!” He shouted in the best American accent he could muster.

“What the heck,” Malcolm exclaimed, approaching Peter, brows furrowed in rage. Peter was stuck where he was, fully expecting to be scolded, “This magazine is in the wrong spot. You can’t put this in the child’s section!” Malcolm said, taking the magazine Peter has hastily deposited, putting it in a nearby slot, “There we go.”

Peter sighed, letting out a heavy breath before Malcolm promptly struck him in the head with a roll of Pringles, “Wha—ow!”

“And what are you doing out here?” Malcolm said, whipping off his sunglasses, “ _Peter Banning_ ,” He raised a brow, folding his arms, “Nice American accent by the way.”

Peter groaned, rubbing at his head lightly as he lowered his hood and fixed his hair, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“What about Felix?” Malcolm said.

“He’s got Neal. They’re not going to attack with Neal around,” Peter said, frightened by his father’s sudden spooked look, “What?”

“You came here _alone?_ ” Malcolm said, huffing, running a hand through his hair, “Damn it, Peter. What if they saw you? These aren’t normal people. They’ll hurt you.”

“I can protect myself,” Peter said, hand tight around the knife in his pocket.

“Like hell you can,” Malcolm said, “I’m walking you home right now.”

“Dad!” Peter shouted, pouting, looking more like a child than he ever intended, “What about you?”

Peter wasn’t here for revenge; he just wanted to make sure his dad was safe. The bruises on his face and the nick to his cheek had faded but in Peter’s eyes, they’d always be there, fresh as the day he received those injuries.

Malcolm reached to ruffle his hair only for Peter to rebuff him, not satisfied with his false reassurance, “If it gets bad, I’ll do something about it,” His eyes were dark for just a moment, “You know I can.”

_If it got bad…_

The handle of the knife was leaving a mark in his skin from how tightly he clutched it. Peter nodded, looking down, letting his father guide him out and lock the convenience store, placing a ‘Back in 5’ sign up before walking Peter back home. Reluctantly, Peter stayed home, still clinging to that knife now in his sweater pocket.

“Peter,” Felix murmured, coming down the stairs where Peter sat, “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, because of my family.”

Peter shook his head, never forgetting why this was happening. He couldn’t blame Felix again, couldn’t lose everything he built up to this point.

“I should…go,” Felix said, “Then she doesn’t have anything to use against your father.”

“ _No way,_ ” Peter nearly tackled Felix into the stairs, both stumbling over each other, falling against the stairs as Peter pressed his lips against Felix’s, kissing him as deeply as he could, his tongue lapping against Felix’s until he responded, the two tangling against each other, hands groping, skin touching skin, eroticism brought on by terror.

Peter broke off first, panting staring at still, silver eyes watching him with a lustful look, “You’re staying with me forever.”

“T-Take it slow, right?” Felix said, voice shaky, smile creeping on his lips.

“I’m done with slow,” Peter responded, taking Felix’s collar, crushing their lips together once more, disguising _comfort_ with lust. Deep down, Peter knew Felix understood his intent, so he answered readily, hands around him once more, scrambling to his feet, making their way to Felix’s bedroom with their lips not once breaking contact.

It wasn’t clear where this would lead, wasn’t clear how far they’d go, but Peter couldn’t stop himself from yanking off Felix’s shirt, couldn’t stop himself from pressing kisses all along Felix’s chest and neck, nipping at the flesh and loving Felix’s whines, lapping at his scar when his tongue found it. He was so accustomed to seeing Felix, yet he realized, he never learned where Felix received his scar from.

The boy fit so perfectly in his arms despite being so tall, so gangly, but _perfect_. Peter leaned back, staring at Felix, hypnotized by him, wondering when he became so infatuated with Felix. It must have been some hero complex, falling in love with the person he saved. It sounded like it belonged in a fairy tale more than here.

Felix was covering himself, shy, for just a moment before his eyes flared with lust, his hands reaching out to strip Peter’s clothing, pulling his sweater over his head and tossing it at the desk, halting when an audible _THUNK_ came from the impact. He stopped, looking over to the sweater, immediately spotting the knife.

“W-What…” Felix gasped out, stepping off the bed, reaching for the knife before Peter grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“No,” Peter whispered, not staring at Felix, not staring at the knife, pulling him back, begging him to let it go. He didn’t use the knife, didn’t know if he had the intent to use it. He wasn’t Neal; He wasn’t Michael Darling, and that was his greatest sin, “No,” Peter repeated, staring into Felix’s eyes, beckoning him over.

Felix returned to his arms, despite the implications of the knife. They didn’t go any further, didn’t remove any more clothing, the two satisfied with touching what they could see and thoroughly tasting each other’s lips. _Felix’s arm was so thin, so narrow,_ Peter was afraid they’d snap if he went to hard. Felix, on the other hand, clung to Peter like he was his anchor in this world, unbreakable, unshakeable.

Peter really wished he could be, for Felix, for his father.

 

“ _Mm,_ Peter?” Felix mumbled, dozing off in bed, snuggling into Peter’s side, “I didn’t finish my English assignment yet.”

Peter snickered, on his side, stroking down Felix’s sides, snapping the waistband of his flannel pants, “You better get to that then, shouldn’t you?” Felix looked up at him, petulant with the way he wrinkled his nose, mocking Peter’s usual petty expression.

The front door opened, not accompanied by his father’s usual declaration. Peter caught it immediately, head shooting up in bed, the mirth in his expression dying immediately. Felix flinched, breath shallow, gripping into the blankets fearfully. Peter held a finger over his mouth, climbing off the bed and retrieving the knife, flipping the blade out slowly. He gestured to Felix, gestured for him to stay calm as Peter stepped out, heading down the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw his father in the kitchen.

“Dad, you scared me,” Peter said, searching the room, finding no one else around but _Neal_ , in the kitchen, “Neal?” His eyes met the ground, seeing spots of blood on the tiled floor.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Malcolm said, voice shaky, “Okay?” He turned slowly, _face stained with blood coming from his forehead_ , what must’ve been a horrible gash hidden in his hair. Peter dropped the knife, running down the stairs, “Stop, stop,” Malcolm said, holding up a hand, trying to quell his son, “Please. I’m fine. It looks a lot worse than it is.”

Peter was shaking his head, “We need to call an ambulance.”

“No. No ambulance,” Malcolm growled out, grabbing his son’s hand when he reached for the phone, “Stop. They’ll ask questions. They’ll pry. And then what?” _Felix’s father. Felix’s sins_. Everything would come crashing down, “I’ll clean it up. Neal can help, right?”

Neal nodded, stoic and unreadable as always. From the bloodstains on his jacket, Peter knew his father tumbled outside, Neal catching him before he hit the ground. Peter huffed, pacing back and forth, staring at his father, so fucking helpless, “Let me do something.”

“Go upstairs. Tell Felix what happened,” Malcolm said, propping himself up. Peter couldn’t help but stare at the way his father’s left leg quaked under his weight, “Forget this happened, al—” He paused, startling both Neal and Peter, eyes suddenly sliding shut as his knees gave out, collapsing in the middle of the kitchen.

Peter was on his knees immediately, testing for a pulse, shaking his father’s shoulders, begging for a response while Neal calmly wet a cloth, bundling a towel under Malcolm’s head as he wiped away the blood, kept his head upright. Neal knew what he was doing, knew how to help Malcom. _Peter couldn’t do a damn thing._

His father stabilized shortly after, laying on the couch once more, resting his head in Felix’s lap as he calmed the tall boy with false reassurances. Malcolm convinced Felix to let him do this, hoping to incite petty anger in Peter to lift his spirits but the boy couldn’t feel a thing but guilt. Peter was sitting on his porch beside Neal, face in his hands. Neal said nothing, simply smoking outside, playing with his lighter.

“I don’t need protection,” Peter said suddenly, eyes unfocused, dilated, filled with fury, “I need a way to attack.”

Neal glanced over at him. For the first time since the man had been watching over them, the man looked _amused_ , the most intrigued of smiles on his face, “I’ll hook you up,” He reached out with his phone, “Your number?”

 

Of all the people Peter expected to meet at midnight by the school, _Wendy Darling was not one of them._ Peter took a deep breath, watching it mist as he let it out slowly, the Darling sister approaching him with a strange expression.

“Wendy Darling, right?” Peter said, unable to return the deceptively innocent smile on his face.

“Neal told me you need help,” She said, still smiling mysteriously.

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Told you? Doesn’t he work for Michael?”

“He works for all of us,” Wendy said, “But I’m Neal’s favourite.”

Peter spotted the bag in Wendy’s hands, black leather, heavy as he took it into his own hands. He swallowed, frightened just by the intent. Wendy smiled back at him, “Its untraceable to us so feel free to do as you wish.”

Peter scoffed, holding the bag under his arm, “You really are the mob.”

Wendy lifted a finger over her lips as if to shush him, “Who knows?”

 

**Monday March 8 th, 2010**

Wendy seemed familiar, but Peter had yet to figure it out. He wondered if they once encountered each other in his previous life. It felt so long ago, Peter couldn’t make out any faces from his other life anymore. Peter huffed, sitting on his bed, clutching the leather bag, knowing that he was simply using Wendy to delay the inevitable. He reached into the bag, finding a holstered handgun and bullets. His breath became shaky, ears ringing. He shut the bag, holding his breath. He had gone this far, asked Neal for a gun; he couldn’t back down.

If he waited, Marilyn could kill his father, could kill Felix. Peter wouldn’t risk this, not when he knew he had options. He stuffed the leather bag into his backpack, heading down the stairs, spotting his father with bandages tight around his forehead, talking on the phone, stopping when he spotted Peter coming down the stairs with Felix. He put the phone down, stepping over to his son, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.

“Have a good day,” Malcolm said, voice hoarse, finally sounding his age after all these years.

Peter nodded, unable to concentrate on anything but the gun heavy in his backpack. He made his way to the door, only stopping when he realized Felix hadn’t followed him. He turned, seeing Felix standing beside Malcolm, reaching out to touch the bandage gently, face creased with guilt. Malcolm whispered something to him, something Peter couldn’t hear, but Felix calmed down immediately, retracting and bowing his head. He followed quickly after Peter, shutting the door behind them, waving to Neal as they walked by.

“Neal will keep an eye on him,” Peter said.

“Mm,” Felix hummed, weak, “Just afraid that the injuries will—” Felix cut himself off, rubbing absently on the scar on his face, calling it to attention.

Peter’s eyes were glued onto it, desperate to fill his thoughts with anything but the weapon he was carrying around, “Your scar,” He said, stopping when Felix flinched, “Just curious”

Felix looked over weakly, his confidence wavering for a moment before it returned, the stoicism he learned to hide behind filling him again, “My dad,” He said, “I’m glad that bastard left.”

_Dead. He hadn’t left._ But Peter wasn’t going to correct that. He reached out just as Felix reached out to Malcolm, stroking the scar lightly, frightening Felix. He retracted, “Ah, its nothing. Just wanted to know how it felt. It’s a little rough.”

“It _is_ scar tissue,” Felix said, trying to fake bombast.

“Does it hurt?” Peter asked, stepping into the train station with his student card.

“Not anymore,” Felix responded, “I mean, it’s a little sensitive but not painful—” He gasped, despite coaxing it from Peter, as a tongue dragged itself up his scar, Peter smirking wildly beside him, “What the hell! W-We’re in public!”

Peter huffed, folding his arms, pulling Felix along with his words, “What do they care? I lick you however and wherever I want,” His lips were spread wide, devilishly, as Felix reddened like a beet under his hoodie, “What?”

Felix spent the entirety of the train ride attempting to ignore Peter who eagerly harassed him as thoroughly as he could. It felt like they hadn’t smiled this wide in a very long time.

 

Alone with his thoughts, without Felix to distract him, without his father to scold him, Peter could feel something inside his chest, something dark, pulsating, heavy like the weight in his bag. He scribbled down in his notebook everything he knew about Marilyn. He knew where she lived, knew she was a construction worker. There was only one active construction in Storybrooke, an old park being torn down and converted into apartments on one of his paths home. If he went there early enough, could he catch her?

More importantly, if he could catch her, could he _shoot her without anyone catching him?_

The teachers might as well have been spitting out gibberish. Peter could not concentrate, couldn’t hear anything but the blood in his veins. Maybe he didn’t have to shoot her, maybe he could simply threaten her into backing off, the gun could simply be a tool. He nearly snapped the pencil lead at the thought. Not after everything she put his father through, everything Felix suffered. _No half measures._

Just like what his father had done to save him.

Peter was so lost in thought, he practically leapt out of his chair when his phone buzzed, startling him. He checked his phone when the teacher returned to the lecture, confused when he saw Rufio on the screen: _R u Ok?_ Peter blinked, turning to his side where Rufio sat, staring at him with creased brows, concerned, utterly unlike his usual goofiness. Peter took a slow breath, giving him a quick nod before returning to his notes, pretending to scribble his teacher’s words down.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Rufio asked, standing by Peter’s locker during lunch period, “You don’t look good.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, putting his books away, the weight of his bag nearly unbearable.

“You can let me know, alright? I’ll help you out,” Rufio said, bothered by Peter’s lack of emotion, “Is it Felix? Is something happening with him?”

Peter shut his locker door, “Felix is fine,” He looked to Rufio, “I need him to stay over at your place again,” He huffed weakly when Rufio refused to back down, “I’m going to take care of this. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“When you say it like that, it only scares me more,” Rufio responded, “But if that’s what you want, sure. I’ll take Felix for the night. Was going to show him _Grease._ ”

At least Felix could have some reprieve tonight, “Thanks.”

Peter spent more time with Felix after school, spent their ride and walk to Rufio’s place harassing him in public again, groping him playfully, watching Felix nearly swoon when he blew against his neck, nipped at his ear, all while Rufio snickered on the side. It was only when Rufio mentioned it did he realize how he could barely keep his hands of Felix, hands still searching him even when Felix was well accustomed to it.

“Something on your mind?” Felix said, catching Peter’s hand from under his sweater and clutching it tight.

Peter chuckled, wishing things were different, “Nothing but you.”

Felix rolled his eyes, releasing Peter’s hand, following after Rufio into his house. He waved goodbye, suddenly needy, staring at Felix like he’d never see the boy again, like Peter would cease to exist after this day. _He needed conviction_ , needed to do this. He tore away, jovialness dead once he was out of sight, eyes harsh and murderous. The weight in his bag was heavy once more but seemed to lighten when he shoved his hand inside and felt the barrel of the gun.

Peter waited till night fell, hiding behind an abandoned washroom as the construction workers started dispersing. He texted his father, telling that he was staying over at Rufio’s, reassuring him that he’d be safe.

Felix’s mother was easy to spot, tall and bulky, even more so than some of the men. People avoided her for the most part other than her superiors. No one made small talk, no one made conversation, she was alone, just like Felix, but unlike him, she had brought this upon herself. Her treatment of Felix was no secret. Her treatment of Malcolm wasn’t either.

Peter grit his teeth, finding fury just by simply staring at this wretched woman. _This would be so easy._

He followed her from afar, gun in his coat pocket, eyes flickering to people passing by. He had to limit the witnesses, limit the collateral damage. He swallowed, following closer when she turned down a sloping path, entered a tunnel below the park, no doubt to avoid the stores above ground. Peter bit down on his lips, fingers twitching, rage at its limit, bursting from his body at the seams. He stormed towards her, a cloud of hate and fury almost visible in the air. Peter drew the gun, fingers trembling from how hard he squeezed it.

A hand clasped around the gun, another on his mouth. Fury died immediately, replaced with terror, “You are really going to regret this.”

The terror died just as quickly, replaced with confusion. Peter said nothing, waiting for Marilyn to disappear before tearing the hand off his mouth, “What the fuck, _Rufio_.”

Rufio raised his hands, “Whoa, whoa, hey. Put the gun down.”

Peter hadn’t even realized he was _pointing it at Rufio._ He put the gun away, stuffing it into his backpack, “I didn’t take the safety off. It’s fine.”

“I don’t understand how having a gun is ever fine,” Rufio responded, “Let alone pointing it at some woman.”

“That wasn’t _some woman_. That was Felix’s mother,” Peter growled, “You don’t know what she’s done to Felix. To my father,” He charged forward, “If she was out of the picture. If she was _gone_.”

Rufio took him by the arms, holding him tight, shoving him backwards until they had space again, “This. Is. NOT. OKAY,” He shouted, loudly, till Peter was stunned out of his overflowing fury, “NOT OKAY!”

Peter twitched, shaken. He was feeling his heart pounding for the first time tonight. He swallowed, stroking his hair nervously, the weight in his backpack becoming irrelevant, “You don’t…” He choked, growling under his breath, “You don’t get it.”

“Try me,” Rufio said, folding his arms, “You spent the entire day looking like you were going to bite someone’s head off, then you’re chummier with Felix than usual. You were pretty much all red flags today!” He gestured to his bag, “And thank god I followed you.”

Peter was shaking his head. He failed to kill Marilyn, failed to save Felix, failed to save his father, “You don’t care.”

“ _Of course, I do_ ,” Rufio said, reaching out an arm, grabbing Peter’s shoulder, a firm anchor grounding him, “I’m your friend. I’m Felix’s friend. And I’m not letting you make the biggest mistake of your life,” He pulled his hands away, stuffing them into his pocket, head back, relaxed, calm despite the electric in the air, “Let’s talk. Come on,” Rufio took a step back, then another, turning around and walking opposite Felix’s mother.

Peter followed him. Peter told him everything about Felix’s mother, everything about Mikey, everything they had done. He didn’t tell him about the replay; he left the supernatural parts out. His father was right; no one would understand.

“And no cops,” Peter said, hugging his bag tight, “Believe me. If that was an option, I would’ve called my mom by now.”

“I get you. I get you,” Rufio said, stopping when they arrived at his house, glancing over briefly before looking back at Peter, “It wouldn’t surprise me if Felix was involved with _something_. But _this_ ,” He gestured to Peter’s bag, “That’s not helping anyone.”

Peter huffed, irritated by the condescension, “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“You’re right. I don’t. You’re scared; you’re not thinking straight,” Rufio said, “You have options, Peter. You have me and I’ll round up the boys. We’ll do this together.”

“They aren’t going to help. I don’t even know who half the boys are!” Peter said, honestly feeling a weight lifted from his chest at the words, “I barely know their names. I barely talk to them outside of school. I just—” He stopped, looking over at Rufio’s house, distracted by the light from the top right window, “They were just party friends,” The words felt so distant.

“Then let’s change that,” Rufio said, extending a hand, “Peter Banning, my name is Rufus Riordan. Let’s be friends. For real this time.”

Peter blinked, brows furrowed, “Your name is what?”

“We really got to work on your manners,” Rufio said, snippy, leading Peter down his driveway, “Come on. You can stay the night. Its late,” He unlocked the door, stepping in while his folks were distracted with a movie on TV, “Felix is in the guest room, so I’ll set up a sleeping bag for you.”

Peter’s brow quirked, “Oh. I’ll find a place to rest.”

 

**Tuesday March 9 th, 2010**

Felix wouldn’t even look at Peter, beet red and babbling as he kept his head tucked in his hood, marching on ahead while Peter and Rufio followed him.

“You know, I thought you would’ve woke him up before you snuck into his bed,” Rufio said, hands behind his head.

“Come on Felix. It was just morning wood!” Peter shouted, watching Felix pause, whipping his head around with a glare that made him look _adorable_ , “You still love me, right?”

Felix huffed, turning away, marching ahead even faster.

Peter snickered, “Yeah. He loves me.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Rufio replied, “So you and Felix. Officially a thing now? I want to know if I can put it on Facebook yet.”

Peter wanted to say yes, wanted to commit to this just as much as he knew Felix did. It just wasn’t the right time, not with his mother hounding them, terrorizing them. Until he could safely send Neal away, until he could touch Felix without fear that they’d never see each other again, Peter would wait.

As they neared the school, Rufio eventually broke off to chat with a couple friends. Peter recognized one of them as Nicholas only because he had recently lost a finger and had a cast still wound around his wrist. He didn’t hang around though, catching up to Felix and leaning in.

“It’s art first period,” Peter said, smirking, “So you’re not getting away from me that easily.”

Felix peered at him from the side of his hood, blush mostly faded. He breathed in slowly, calm as he spoke, “Who said I want to get away?” He let hands come around his head, lowering his hood, exposing his golden locks. He smiled, leaning in, kissing Peter with nothing but gentleness.

Peter reciprocated, feeling all that stress and terror balled up in his chest yesterday dissipate. He wasn’t sure when he depended so much on Felix to feel calm. Perhaps he always did which led to his suffering when he grew up in a constant state of insecurity. The people watching him, judging him, didn’t matter anymore. He took Felix’s arm, dragging him into the art room, the brightest smile on his face.

It was supposed to be a normal art class, a short lecture in the beginning before the students broke off to work on their portfolio. Peter nearly believed this until the teacher received a call from the principal, looking to Felix, gesturing him forward.

“Go to the vice principal’s office.”

Peter had to get into a fight with the teacher to get sent down with him. Peter kept his eyes glued on Felix, waiting for the boy to joke around, scold him for getting into trouble, tell him there were options, but Felix was silenced by terror. Peter could see him shaking again, kneading at his sweater. He wished he could hold him still, tell him everything would be okay.

It wouldn’t be. He couldn’t lie to him.

“Felix, my son,” Marilyn said, cleaned up, dressed in relatively fine clothes, arms spread, “Where have you been all this time?” She stepped over to him, teetering on cheap heels as she threw her arms around his shoulders, humming playfully, acting like a doting mother from the 80s.

The vice principal stood from her desk, folding her arms, “She said you haven’t been at home. Is this true?”

Felix couldn’t move, sinking into his sweater, eyes locked on his mother who nodded to him, smile dropping for just a moment. He shut his eyes immediately, nodding quickly.

“He’s been staying with me,” Peter said, fighting to contain the rage, fighting to maintain his charm, “We’re study buddies.”

“You? You’re the one that’s been _bullying my son_ all this time,” Marilyn responded, barely keeping up her friendly mother façade, simply trying to provoke Peter into action, “You think I don’t know what you do to him?”

Peter grit his teeth, “I know you don’t know,” He hissed, shivering when he saw Marilyn’s hands planted firmly on Felix’s shoulders, “Felix…”

“Felix, you don’t have to put up with this,” Marilyn leaned in, whispering into his ear, making goosebumps raise on his flesh, “Do you want to come home with mother?” She narrowed her eyes when Felix didn’t respond, hands closing in around Felix’s throat but still pretending to press into his shoulders, “Is this boy hurting you? Do you need me to call the police?”

The flinch was visible, but no one would be able to tell what was causing it. Felix looked to his mother, eyes desperate as he stared at her false persona. Only her eyes bled through: Icy blue and filled with malice as they threatened Felix into submission. Felix shut his eyes again, shaking his head, “Let’s go home.”

“He’s still has class,” Peter said, stuttering when Marilyn walked his son out, shoving past Peter, “Hey!”

“Don’t listen to him, Felix,” Marilyn said, glancing back, gloating with just a look, “He can’t control you anymore,” She took his hand, walking him down the hall in what would have been affectionate to anyone but Peter. More than anything right now, Peter wished he hadn’t handed the gun over to Rufio. Peter wished he could shoot her in the head right now, damn the consequences.

When lunch came, Peter could not contain his fury.

“Fuck!” Peter shouted, hurling a chair against the basement wall, kicking at desks wildly while Rufio watched, pacing back and forth, “If you didn’t stop me. _If you just let me shoot her_ ,” He snarled, grabbing Rufio’s collar, wanting to beat him unconscious for stopping him.

“What’s going on down here?” Nicholas said, pushing up the doors to the stairwell with a stockier boy in tow.

Peter glared at them, body language predatory, “Who the fuck are you two?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Rufio immediately leapt in, hands up to placate, “Something bad happened. He’s not usually like this. He’ll take you guys out for food when this is all done,” Nicholas immediately clapped happily. The other boy kept his arms folded, sceptical, “Peter. This is Nicholas and Thomas. They said they’re willing to help us.’

Peter rolled his eyes, backing off, pacing on his own. Two more boys joined them after. Peter recognized them right away, “Cory. Simon,” He snapped out, both boys joining the crowd, “Is that it?”

Rufio shrugged, “Well, for now.”

Peter groaned, rubbing at his eyes, “Why did I trust you with this?”

“We’ll figure this out. There’s more of us than them,” Rufio said.

“There’s _six_ of us. Six kids, trying to do what? This isn’t make believe,” Peter snapped, eyes burning as he glared at Rufio with all the hate meant for Felix’s mother, “I’m not doing anything with these clowns. They don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Clowns?” Simon said, his heavy French accent highlighting the disdain in his words, “You said this guy was worth our time.”

“S-Simon, please,” Cory said, grabbing his arm, pulling him back, “He’s clearly under a lot of stress.”

Peter scoffed, “Don’t patronize me.”

Simon immediately stepped forward, eyes fierce and concentrated unlike the wild eyes of Felix’s family, “You got a problem with us?”

“Oh dear, you think we should stop Simon before he breaks someone’s nose?” Nicholas said, looking over to Thomas, “You more than me because, well, you know,” He lifted his injured hand gesturing to it weakly.

Thomas shook his head, “I’m not wasting my lunch break on this. Sorry Rufio. I’m out,” He backed off, gesturing to Nicholas, “You too, man. You’re not losing anymore fingers on my watch,” Nicholas gave him a quick salute, following at his heels.

“Stop! Stop!” Rufio shouted, “Hey, come on, Simon, back down. And Thomas get back here. We’re here because _Felix is in danger_ and Peter’s just trying to help him out.”

Peter was already shaking his head, “Stop it. Just stop it. This isn’t going to work,” He extended his hand, “Give it back to me.”

“Hell no,” Rufio said, suddenly stern, briefly alerting everyone of a change in the mood.

“I’m going to do what I should have done yesterday,” Peter said, eyes hooded and murderous.

Rufio’s eyes flickered down to his hand and back up to his face, “Think about what you’re saying.”

“Shut up and give me the fucking gun!”

The bickering and conversation died immediately. Thomas and Nicholas stared at Peter, bewildered. Simon’s mouth fell open, paused mid-word. Cory was the first to speak out, looking to Rufio who slapped a hand on Peter’s face, “What gun?” He lifted his hands, “Stop. Alright. Everyone stop. Rufio, give us the full story right now or we are calling the police.”

“No police, alright,” Rufio said, sighing heavily, staring at Peter who stood, deflated, gritting at his teeth to stop himself from barking more words he’d regret, “Alright. Everybody take a seat,” He gestured to the spare desks laying around, “We’ve got a lot to cover in half an hour.”

It was harder to tell the truth to strangers that only Rufio could confirm were trustworthy. Peter spoke but it was Rufio who filled in most of the blanks. They explained Felix’s predicament, talked about how Marilyn and Mikey were terrorizing Peter’s family, using Felix against them for some twisted, self-indulgent goal that involved Peter’s father. Peter had been driven into a corner, got a gun to take things into his own hands, only to be stopped and _saved_ by Rufio.

“And here we are today,” Peter said, sweeping a hand over his face, unbelieving that he told _nearly everything_ to people he barely knew. Being frank was not his strong suit, “Felix was taken away and she could be doing terrible things to him right now. That’s why we need to act.”

Nicholas hummed, kicking his feet playfully, “This is all kind of romantic. Not the psychos, just, you and Felix. Who would’ve seen it?”

“Were you even listening?” Peter said, irritated by this obvious sociopath hiding under a childlike persona.

“Loud and clear!” Nicholas responded, giving him thumbs up with his good hand.

“Why not just beat her up?” Simon said, sitting on a desk with his feet propped up on a broken chair, “Send her a message.”

Thomas shook his head, “Not going to work. What if she goes to the police? Or her brother?”

Cory drummed his fingers on a nearby rail, legs folded under him neatly, “We need more information.”

“Exactly what I was thinking!” Rufio said, “Which is why I assembled all of you here.”

“I’m flattered but I’m sure we’re the only ones who said yes,” Simon responded, looking over to Peter, “No offense but you aren’t the most popular person right now.”

Peter rolled his eyes, watching from afar as Rufio directed the boys, assigning them to investigations, resources, _leading them_. He couldn’t help but feel envious, wishing that could be him. He hadn’t noticed he was staring till Rufio turned to him, guiding everyone’s gaze to the sullen boy behind them. He reached out to Peter this time, beckoning him, “We need you for this. You’ve got all the details.”

It was another leap of faith. The first one led him to a good spot, _led him to Felix_. Peter would be a fool to skip this one. He took Rufio’s hand, confidence growing as the eyes turned to him now instead of Rufio. He breathed out, feeling like he finally emerged from a pit of tar, lungs light as he spoke, “Alright. I’m in.”

Despite Peter and Simon’s insistence, they weren’t going to attack right now. They needed intel. They needed to know why Marilyn sprung now when she could’ve done this any time. Sitting in the living room where his father was pinned down, it became obvious to Peter: _Mikey_. Marilyn needed the muscle and that was Mikey.

“I’d be more confident if you took Neal instead,” Malcolm said, placing a cup of tea in front of their unofficial bodyguard who was formally given a room in their house, “I can look after myself.”

“It’s fine. Rufio can walk with me. No one’s gone after me on my way to school,” Peter said, immediately noticing his father’s fingers trembling as he released his own cup of tea, “I’m going to get Felix back. I promise.”

Malcolm immediately clenched his fists, swinging them over the back of the couch casually, “We’ll figure this out,” He rubbed at his brows, “She’s only taking him because she knows he’s leverage. She won’t—” He sealed his mouth, unable to assure anything, “If it gets bad, I’ll just give her what she wants.”

Peter felt his gag reflex in the back of his throat. He closed his hands tightly, nails digging into his palms to suppress the feeling. _What she wanted_ , was sick and wrong. She couldn’t get it herself, so she got her brother on board and when that wouldn’t work, she planned on using Felix against him.

The doorbell rang. Neal was on his feet first, cautious, looking to Malcolm. The older man stood, gesturing their bodyguard down before, approaching the door and opening it, seething with as much disgust as he could muster, “Marilyn.”

“Mal,” She said, looking so satisfied with herself, almost ecstatic, “I’ll let you know I didn’t press charges for kidnapping my son and holding him here against his will,” She tilted her head, “Whatever were you doing with him here?”

Malcolm immediately reached for the door. She held it open with a hand, “What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to break bread,” She said, reaching out, stroking his arm intimately, “And discuss our son.”

“You are delusional,” Malcolm said, “Unless you have something important to say…”

“Don’t you want to hear how Felix is doing?”

Peter leapt to his feet already, glaring at her from behind his father. Malcolm held in his rage, staring at her with tranquil fury, waiting for her to speak.

She smiled at them, tilting her head one way, still stroking Malcolm’s arm, “He’s relieved, finally back home. Spending some quality time with his uncle,” Peter shuddered at her words, imagining the worst scenarios, “He’s going to school tomorrow and he’d prefer if your son stayed away from him,” She looked to Peter, face hardened with disgust, “Stop trying to _convert_ him to your ways.”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Malcolm growled, smacking her hand off him, grabbing her by the front of the jacket and shoving her backwards.

She was so infuriatingly confident. It only made Peter wish they went with Simon’s plan, “How about a goodbye kiss?” She grabbed Malcolm’s collar with her own strength, leaning in, breathing him in, “If it makes you feel better, you can pretend I’m Felix,” Malcolm nearly shoved her away, stopped by her suddenly filling with malice, “Or maybe I’ll have someone give Felix a kiss in your place.”

Peter didn’t hear. Malcolm thanked all heavens that he didn’t. He nearly bit through his lip, crushing his eyes shut for a moment before pulling Marilyn forward with more tenderness but still harshly, pressing their lips together. Peter couldn’t move, overwhelmed by sheer disgust at the sight. Marilyn grabbed at his hair, tried to deepen it, but Malcolm jerked away, shoving her out with all his strength and shutting the door.

“Dad…”

Malcolm screamed, striking the door, hating his helplessness. For one moment, Malcolm let his weakness show to his son and it was all Peter needed to harden his conviction.

 

“Pass me a beer.”

Mikey’s friends were loud, obnoxious. Felix wanted nothing to do with them. He remained where he was, squeezed up in the corner of the room with his backpack at his feet, knees hugged to his chest, trying to hide himself from their eyes. They left him alone for the most part _except his uncle_ , who kept looking over at him like he was the most interesting thing in the room.

Felix kept his gaze averted, simply staring at the wall and hoping for the day to end. He eyed his phone on the coffee table, taken from his mother. If it got bad, Felix knew he could call _Michael_ , beg him for help. He sighed loudly, too loudly, as the crowd on the couch immediately turned their attention to him.

“You just going to sit there all night?” One of them asked, his thick curly hair and unkempt goatee iconic amongst the other two stoners, “Get him a beer or something.”

Mikey chuckled, eyes glued to Felix the entire time, “Get over here,” He gestured, standing when Felix refused to move out of terror, “I said, _come over_ ,” He said, crossing the small living room in few steps and grabbing Felix’s arm, wrenching him out from the corner and nearly hurling him at his friends. The two red-faced stoners laughed as Felix scrambled over them, eventually shoving him onto the middle couch beside his uncle. Felix sat down, arms tight against his sides, trying to take up as little space as he could while he tried not to _exist._

Before Felix could sink away into his thought, a beer was opened and shoved into his hands. He stared at it, unsure. The man with the goatee, shook his head in disbelief, “Well? Drink it!” He sputtered with laughter when Felix simply brought it to his lips, hands too shaky to steady it and pour it into his mouth, “Seventeen and doesn’t know how to drink.”

Hands took Felix by the hair, jerking his head backwards, shoving him into the couch, “Why don’t we help him out?” Mikey said, taking the bottle and shoving the neck of it nearly down his throat. Felix gagged violently, bitter fluid filling his mouth, pouring down his chin when he couldn’t swallow fast enough. They emptied the bottle on him, tossing it aside and bursting with laughter as Felix gagged beside him, the alcohol making him feel too hot.

His uncle’s friends eventually left him along, back at laughing at their own stories while Felix remained slumped against the couch, stomach wrenching from the drink without any food to buffer it. He kept his head down, hoping for the pain to pass.

“—I got some good shit, man.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Marilyn?”

“—be back soon. Don’t worry about it.”

Felix blinked, the light too bright, his sweater too hot.

“Deep Nine? What’s this shit?”

“Apparently its really fucking crazy. I haven’t tried it yet though. Dunno what it does—”

The lights dimmed, shadows blurring in front of him.

“I guess we got someone to try it on.”

Hands were suddenly all over him, too many hands. Felix gasped, struggling, screaming when he felt weight crushing him down, his arm yanked out from his sweater and pinned down on the arm of the couch, “S-Stop!” He squealed out, seeing the goatee man from before _doing something_ with a syringe, flicking it twice. Felix was hysterical, nauseous, desperate, arm flexing uselessly against his uncle’s grip, “ _Stop_.”

The door opened, a gust of cold, fresh air giving Felix clarity for just a moment. He surveyed the room, finding his uncle and one of his goons holding him down and restraining his arm on the couch, their goateed friend holding onto a syringe of unidentifiable fluid. When they were distracted by his mother entering, Felix tore away, scrambling onto the floor and back into his corner, pressed against it like a terrified animal.

Marilyn scoffed, watching Mikey condescendingly, “Really? You’re wasting the goods on _him?”_

Like a twisted angel of mercy, Felix was spared, back to being blissfully ignored in the corner while his family mockingly mimicked a party.

 

  **Wednesday March 10 th, 2010**

“I’m okay.”

Peter didn’t believe it. Felix was racked with pounding headaches, as the nurse claimed, but Peter knew he was hung over. The smell of alcohol was present in his sweater when he closed in. Peter took the fresh, hooded sweater out from his backpack, draping it over Felix for him to change into when he woke up. He reached into his bag again, taking out a boxed lunch his father had prepared in the morning, knowing that Marilyn wouldn’t bother feeding Felix. He placed it on the desk beside him, nodding to the nurse before heading to the basement.

“So, I did a bit of research,” Cory said, flipping through a small notepad, “It looks like Mikey was a truck driver. After he got off on parole in January, he was fired sometime at the end of February. I assume that’s why he was back in Storybrooke,” It matched with the police report Peter held. Mikey’s return was not triggered by anything, simply showing up in March.

Simon shrugged, “So?”

Cory sputtered, shutting the notepad, “So, all of _this_ was probably triggered by his appearance, not something planned.”

“It checks out,” Peter said, sitting cross-legged on a broken desk, “She didn’t have the nerve to do this herself, didn’t even stand up to my dad before this. Her brother shows up and then she’s suddenly confident enough to come to my house alone and blackmail my father,” Before the arrival of her brother, the only person that she had enough self-assurance to push around was Felix and after he left, after he defied her, she didn’t bother tracking him down, “That’s excellent work,” He said, Cory nodding in response.

“What’s the plan then?” Simon said, folding his arms, “Hunt him, push him around, get him out of Storybrooke?”

Cory shrugged, “It could work.”

“What if he goes to the cops?” Thomas asked, leaning against a wall, casually playing with a lighter, “Wasn’t that something we wanted to avoid?”

“People like him only respond to force,” Peter said, remembering his time dealing with Mikey, “We should go with Simon’s plan but we’ll need collateral. Something to stop him from reaching out.”

Simon was immediately smirking, “My plans are good.”

“Man, I feel like I’m part of a vigilante group,” Nicholas said, almost giggling until Thomas shot him a cross look, “I mean, we could always wear masks or something. Or, if we catch him doing something illegal, he wouldn’t go to the cops if we had something on him. Or, both!”

Rufio snapped his fingers, “Felix might know something. I mean, if he’s ready to help us.”

“I can ask him,” Peter said, “I’ll go now,” He declared, sliding down from the desk, heading into the corridor only to be stopped by Rufio, grabbing his arm. Peter looked to him, confused, “What?”

“How about a thank you? To everyone?” Rufio said, turning Peter around.

They had no reason to help him other than curiosity. That was what Peter wanted to believe, not that their bonds with Rufio was enough to coerce them into action, that their friendship meant that much. Peter wanted to scoff at that sentiment, curious at how he ended up like this despite building such a deep bond to Felix. _Perhaps it was exactly that,_ Felix’s betrayal of his friendship overshadowed every relationship Peter ever had from that day forward.

Reaching forward, finding bravery, Peter said to them with all the sincerity he could muster, “Thanks everyone,” He paused, “I’ll take you all out for food after this. To celebrate.”

The mood was lighter than he expected. Rufio, Cory, and Nicholas were quick to smile. Simon slid off his desk, stretching, “I’m only helping you because Rufio asked. And it seems like the right thing to do,” He said, “We’re not friends, Banning.”

“What Simon meant to say is ‘you’re welcome’,” Cory corrected, shaking his head at Simon’s bombast.

“I’m just keeping an eye on everyone. Rufio’s got some crazy ideas. This one seems the craziest,” Thomas added, “Hope we don’t lose anymore fingers.”

While the crew chatted, Peter broke off, honestly feeling lighter, even as he watched Felix eat slowly on the bed, he felt like things were better. The bell rang but Peter and Felix made no action to move from the nurse’s office.

“Take your time,” Peter said, stroking Felix’s shoulder while he snacked on a tuna sandwich, “My dad packed extra food in there.”

Felix nodded, silent, trying his best not to stuff himself with food. He hadn’t spoken a single word, simply staring at Peter waiting for him to fill the air. That was exactly what Peter did to lighten the mood, talking about Rufio’s friends, talking about their plan to save him and his role in it. Peter helped guide a cup of water to his lips, stabilizing his tremble.

“If you know anything that could help us,” Peter said, “If you’ve seen him do anything illegal.”

Felix bit his lip, fingers running over the side of the cup, “He has a friend. His friend deals drugs,” He shut his eyes, “I-I don’t remember his name. He came over last night,” The shaking worsened, “I can’t remember anything else.”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Peter said, grabbing his shoulders, holding him still, forcing him to look into his eyes, “That’s more than enough. We can take care of it,” It was just one night and Felix went back on everything he had built. When Marilyn was strong, Felix was weak and vice versa.

“Stay over at Rufio’s tonight,” Peter commanded, “She’s using you as leverage against my father.”

Felix shook his head, “She’ll do worse if I don’t go home,” He swallowed, eyes suddenly wide and fearful, “ _He’ll_ do so much worse.”

Cory suggested a plausible reason for the sudden action from Marilyn. He begged it wasn’t anything more. He reached out, stroking Felix’s hair, lowering his hood so he could clutch his head against his chest. Felix didn’t fight it, shutting his eyes and returning the hug.

“I-I can…” Felix whispered into Peter’s chest. He lifted his head, clouded eyes quivering, “I can call you when he’s over. The dealer,” His eyes stilled, his breathing slowed. Peter could feel his heartbeat even out, “Let me do this.”

The command on Peter’s lips was _no._ Stay with Rufio, stay out of harm, but Peter couldn’t bear rejecting Felix, especially when his real self bled through in this moment of weakness. He nodded, still holding him, forcing himself to believe this would all work.

 

_I got the masks. Nicholas says he can get us a van._

Peter smiled at the group chat, looking up to check that his father was still cooking dinner before texting back quickly: _Felix will text us when the dealers are there_

A pause, before Simon responded: _Sure you want to do that?_

Peter furrowed his brow, grumbling under his breath. _What do you mean by that._ Simon was infuriating, but secretly sensible. Peter wasn’t sure if he liked having him around.

_Why not do a stakeout? Catch him in the act. Who knows if Felix is reliable._

_I love a good stakeout!_

Peter’s breath hitched, angrily tapping back a response. _Felix IS reliable_

_Whatever. When it happens, let it know that I told you so_

Peter hummed thoughtfully, lowering his phone. It was certainly refreshing, having a team to work with even if there were coarser bits to it. He glanced over at his father, contemplating what to tell him. It was better to stay quiet for now lest his father tried to stop him. With a clear mind, he thanked Rufio for stopping him from killing Marilyn, potentially jeopardizing his whole future.

“So, did Felix enjoy his lunch?” Malcolm asked, walking over and tossing himself onto the couch.

“You know he did,” Peter responded, “He loves your cooking.”

“Everyone does,” Malcolm said, giggling quietly, “We’ll get him back and I’ll cook him a feast.”

Perhaps that was when he could formally thank Rufio’s friends, “What about Felix’s shifts at the convenience store?”

“I’m covering them right now. Called him in as sick,” Malcolm said, scratching absently at his cheek, “I haven’t spent his salary. I’ve been saving it,” He gave his son a pat on the cheek, “So stop giving me that sour look.”

Peter hadn’t even realized he was glaring at his father as he returned to the pot simmering on the stove. He blinked the look away as soon as he realized it, tossing himself backwards onto the couch and laying his head against the arm rest. It was an odd feeling, like he was _jealous_ of his father’s devotion to Felix, but Peter paid it no mind, opting to distract himself with more pressing issues. He looked back on the chat, finding the crew talking about codenames. At its heart, it was just a game, a high stakes game but nonetheless, still a game, with Marilyn as their final boss. At least, that’s what Peter hoped.

Peter did not forget what he came back for: To save Felix from his gruesome murder. Even now, despite avoiding death day, the murderer was still out there. He had to do what his father did, commit to saving Felix, _by killing Felix’s murderer._ If that murderer turned out to be Marilyn, no amount of reassurance from Rufio could stop Peter.

The doorbell rang. Neal, practically invisible despite sitting in his living room, was on his feet immediately. Malcolm lifted a hand, tossing his apron onto the kitchen counter before opening the front door _and shutting it behind him._ This time, he was prepared to play Marilyn’s game, fake affection. Peter peeked out the window, seeing that slimy woman touching his father too affectionately, _the same way he touched Felix when it was peaceful._ His father was returning the touches, expression soft except for his eyes, harsh and violent like an explosion in the sea.

The disgust was overwhelming, almost painful to watch as his father played along, living out Marilyn’s fantasies. _If only she was gone…_ Peter shut himself up, returning to his phone, distracting himself by waiting for Felix’s text, waiting for a call to arms, waiting for the time he could relieve his stress by breaking in Mikey’s head.

 

**Thursday March 11 th, 2010**

Wracked with nightmares, Felix woke from the floor completely exhausted. His eyes flickered around him, body unable to move, arm throbbing and parts of it swollen. He gasped for breath, rolling onto his side, coughing out watery bile. He forced himself onto his elbows, dragging himself out from the corner and against the couch, clinging to it for leverage.

“You’re finally awake,” Mikey said, voice sounding like it was echoing against the walls. Felix’s eyes searched frantically, landing on the towering man sitting on the couch, “ _That_ good, huh? Maybe I’ll try out this Deep Nine myself.”

Felix blinked, unable to recall anything last night, seeing nothing but horrific imagery when he tried to think back. He groaned, rubbing his eyes, yanking his sleeve up when the ache in his arm was too much and finding a tiny hole in his arm, swollen and infected. He swallowed, breath quick and shallow, eyeing his phone in his backpack. _He was supposed to call Peter. He was supposed to tell him when this was happening._ He failed Peter, and that was the worst thing he could have ever done.

“Get up. You’re going to be late for school,” Mikey said as he walked over, grabbing the back of Felix’s sweater and dragging him to his feet, chuckling when Felix tumbled back to the ground and threw up again, “Can’t believe we’re family.”

It took all of Felix’s strength to step out and when he did, the sunlight was blinding him. He collapsed just a few steps away from his mother’s apartment, leaning against a fence and fighting the urge to throw up again. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling feverish, knowing his arm was infected. He groaned, joints screaming as he tried to stand up. His backpack slid off his shoulder; Felix joined it shortly after, collapsing again.

Felix wasn’t sure if it was another hallucination, but he swore he could see Malcolm running towards him, could feel a hand against his neck, checking his pulse. When he was lucid again, he could feel something cold trickling into his mouth.

“Drink it slowly,” Malcolm’s voice said, hands coaxing him forward, “You’re dehydrated.”

Felix took a shallow breath, immediately choking on spittle and turning to his side, spitting out water. He reached forward, grabbing at a thin jacket, feeling a nametag graze the side of his hand. He shut his eyes tightly, forcing the images out from his head before opening them again, staring straight into soft blue eyes.

“M-Malcolm…” Felix whispered, “What?”

“Wanted to make sure you get to school safely,” Malcolm said, catching Felix’s hand when he suddenly jerked, “Neal is watching Peter. He hasn’t caught on that I told Neal to tail him. He’s good at what he does.”

Felix wanted to speak but found the world blinking out again. Whatever remnant of ‘Deep Nine’ that was left in his veins made him lethargic. He could only manage a groan when he leaned forward, slumping into Malcolm’s shoulder, his fever hot against Malcolm’s neck. The older man clicked his tongue in disdain, carefully lifting Felix, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

_Home?_ It was the last thought before Felix passed out once more.

The next time he awoke, Felix was back in his room at Peter’s home, laying on his side, cold towel laying across his head. The worst of the pain had passed from his gut, but his arm was still throbbing. At the thought, he peered down at his arm and noticed a bandage over the wound with some sort of gel squeezing out from under it. The fluid felt cool, refreshing, even in the swollen heat of his infection.

He coughed loudly, seizing suddenly, rolling onto his stomach and heaving. Immediately, footsteps could be heard rushing up the stairs, Malcolm storming in and catching Felix before he rolled off the bed, “Oh geez, not again,” Malcolm murmured quietly, keeping Felix on his side and holding his flailing limbs down, “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

The words were familiar as were the feel of Malcolm’s hands holding him still while he seized. Felix wondered what time it was, wondered how long till the drug would pass through his body. Rolling onto his back, Felix took a deep, cooling breath. He took the towel off his forehead, lazily lolling his head over to stare at Malcolm.

“T-thanks,” He whispered out, reaching out when a cup of water and pills were handed to him.

“Antibiotics, for the infection,” Malcolm said, “And drink lots of fluids. It’ll flush out whatever you took,” He paused, thinking briefly, “Whatever they made you take.”

Felix did as he told, taking the pills before sipping at the cup of water, immediately feeling relief in his throat. He swallowed weakly, eyes wandering in the room till it landed on his phone. He choked on the water, distracted by a thought, reaching for his phone while Malcolm held him still.

“ _Peter_. I need to tell him,” Felix said before coughing harshly, crumpling over.

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” Malcolm said, taking out his own phone, “It should be lunch period now.”

That wasn’t what Felix meant but he stayed quiet. Peter wouldn’t have told his father about his plans, fearing that he would probably try to stop him. He hung his head, sitting up against the headboard, sipping the cup of water slowly.

“There, I texted him,” Malcolm said, putting his phone away, reaching out to steady Felix’s hands, “Everything will be fine,” He moved to stand but Felix caught his arm, holding him still. Quirking a brow, Malcolm lowered himself, sitting at the edge of the bed, “What’s the matter?”

It felt like an eternity since he was back in this room, _back home_ , staring at Malcolm’s face. After facing so much ugliness in his family, Felix only just realized how beautiful Malcolm’s eyes were, a rich blue unlike the stormy, green colour Peter’s eyes were. He wanted to stare at him a little longer, commit it to memory before he was returned to that terrible place.

“Nothing,” Felix said, lowering his hand, taking his phone from the desk and clutching it close. He gasped, feeling a hand on his chest, coaxing his heartbeat to slow down before gliding up, touching his face, sweeping a thumb over his cheek, “M…Malcolm…”

“Get some rest,” Malcolm said, waiting for Felix to calm down before stepping away.

Felix waited for Malcolm to leave before checking his phone, finding several messages from Peter when he didn’t show up for class. He texted Peter, reassuring him that he was fine, tapping in a quick apology. All he had to do was text Peter when he saw that drug dealer again, but he didn’t do it, terrified into docility, dragged between his friends and drugged against his will. He shut his eyes, clutching his phone to his forehead, praying that _this_ would not lead to anything worse.

 

“Told you.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Shut up.”

“It’s a rough time and you know he crumples when confronted. Don’t be harsh on him,” Rufio said, chastising Simon.

Simon shrugged, smirking, “I know. Just, told you.”

“You are unbelievable,” Cory said, puffing up in anger while Simon mocked him with a look.

“We _are_ going with a stakeout then?” Nicholas said, “I’ll bring the snacks.”

Peter chuckled briefly, calling everyone’s attention to him, “We’re going to need a lot more than snacks. How about thinking on the lines of _weapons_ when we actually confront Mikey?”

Nicholas turned his head up, thinking, “You mean like pocket knives?” He said, reaching into his jacket, popping out a blade making several boys reel back.

“Put that away, you idiot!” Thomas shouted, whipping that from his hands and immediately putting the blade away.

“I just use it for opening cookie boxes. Geez, Thomas,” Nicholas said without a lick of sarcasm, taking his knife back.

Peter gestured to Rufio, pulling him aside, “So, I really need to ask. Where the hell did you meet these guys?”

Rufio shrugged, “They’re not so bad. I know Simon’s a little coarse--”

“I was talking about the psychopath. I mean, my god,” Peter said, gesturing to Nicholas who proceeded to teach them how to open a box of cookies with a single swipe of his wrist, “I don’t know if I want someone like that watching my back.”

“Maybe that’s exactly the type of person you want watching your back,” Rufio said, hands in his pockets, fully confident as he spoke, “When it gets bad, he’s the one who’s least likely to run away scared.”

“You know,” Nicholas said, putting his knife away, “We should probably give ourselves a name. Like the Avengers.”

Simon snickered, shaking his head, “That’s stupid,” He said without any truth, obviously amused by the suggestion.

Cory picked it up right away, punching Simon lightly on the arm, “He likes it.”

“Well? Rufio?” Thomas looked to their friend, “What’s our name?”

Rufio lifted his hands, “Whoa, hey. I just assembled you. I’m not the leader here,” He gestured to Peter, “Give us a name. Come on.”

Peter expected eye-rolls, rejection, but instead, all the boys were staring at him, confident. It was unnerving at first, but the feeling quickly became welcome. Even Simon was looking to him, trusting him. There was only one name he could think of, one name fitting for a team put together to save Felix.

“We’re the Lost Boys,” Peter said, “Like Peter Pan.”

“Ha! Of course, Peter Banning,” Simon said, swinging his legs over the side of another desk, “I like it.”

Cory nodded, bowing slightly, “Me too.”

Thomas shrugged, “Eh. There are worst names.”

“Dibs on Nibs!” Nicholas shouted, pointing at himself, “He’s my favourite Lost Boy.”

 The lunch bell interrupted them, several boys immediately groaning, realizing that they had lost their lunch planning their stakeout. Peter waited for everyone to leave, bidding everyone farewell before returning to his phone, seeing text messages from Felix, relieved. He wasn’t going to let Felix go back which meant tonight, Felix would be safe, for sure.

 

“Malcolm?” Felix said, walking down the stairs slowly with an empty soup bowl, curiously finding the older man taking a picture of himself using his phone with a faux smile on his face visible from the screen facing Felix. He approached slowly, “What are you doing?”

Malcolm flinched, looking over his shoulder to see Felix behind him, “Ah. Just, you know, taking pictures,” He tapped at his phone quickly. From what Felix could see, it appeared that he was sending the photos to someone.

“Is my mother making you do that?” He said, fingers tightening around the bowl.

“It’s no big deal. Just photos,” Malcolm said, pocketing his phone, “I could care less about what she does with them,” He took the bowl from Felix, fingers brushing against his in a comforting gesture, “I can clean this. You should rest.”

Felix shook his head, “I feel better. I figure I should move around.”

“Get to bed. Don’t make me use my dad voice,” Malcolm said, snickering as he stroked Felix’s head, humming, “You are so tall.”

Felix shrugged weakly, releasing the bowl but not moving, unable to stop himself from following Malcolm into the kitchen, “I know you’re letting my mother…do things. I know she’s blackmailing you,” He mumbled out, remembering all the times his mother _bragged_ in front of her brother, in front of him, as if they were after Malcolm’s affection too, “It’s my fault.”

“She’s was a bitch before you were born,” Malcolm said, “I don’t see how its your fault.”

“You knew her back then?” Felix said.

Malcolm raised a brow again, this time with his usually jovialness, “Yeah. And she was just as bad as she is now,” He put the bowl down in soapy water, gesturing Felix to sit down on the couch while he sat beside him, arms across the back of it, splayed out casually while Felix sat meekly beside him, “She always _acted_ so fragile and meek despite being six foot something. We had a bit of a…fling back in the day,” Felix shuddered at the though, “You are _not_ my son. By the way. Despite her constant insistence.”

“We don’t look similar at all,” Felix noted, “Peter’s pretty much a clone of you.”

Malcolm scoffed, “Excuse you, I am much more handsome.”

“A little, I guess,” Felix whispered as quietly as he could.

“A little more handsome than Peter?” Malcolm said, slipping into his comedic tone, “That’s still a victory in my eyes.”

Felix shook his head, smiling briefly before the conversation slipped back to a more solemn mood.

“I should’ve seen it sooner. She was clingy, stalking me everywhere, especially when I got involved with Peter’s mother, should’ve realized that wasn’t because of her own husband but rather _her obsessive behaviour._ ”

Felix narrowed his eyes, his fingers suddenly shaking from where they were on the arm rest, “You knew my father?”

“I’m not going to say anymore if it bothers you,” Malcolm said, breath hitching when Felix grabbed onto his arm.

“I need to know this. I should know this,” Felix said, staring into Malcolm’s eyes before tearing away, retreating to his side of the couch, “Just, if you feel like it.”

Snickering, Malcolm slid himself over slowly, swinging his arm behind Felix, offering himself as a comforting shoulder if Felix needed it, “Where do I start? _Nathaniel Forrester_ , self-righteous asshole whose idiocy only matched his superiority complex. I’m glad that bastard’s gone. As much as I hate Marilyn, I wouldn’t condemn her to spend eternity with him.”

“He cut my face,” Felix said, unfocused, “When I was little, I wouldn’t stop crying so he cut my face with a knife,” He said, voice monotone and quiet, “Now he’s a part of me forever.”

Malcolm reached out with the arm draped behind Felix, gliding over the scar, “ _That’s_ not him,” He was unperturbed when Felix swatted his hand away lightly, “I thought Marilyn was a victim, pressed under the thumb of her husband but the moment he was out of the picture, she showed her true colours. _And she took it out on you,_ ” He said, remembering the moment he realized he unleashed another monster, one obsessed with him specifically but lacking power to do anything about it, “It’s my fault this happened to you,” He said, absently, forgetting the implications.

“What do you mean?” Felix asked.

Malcolm stiffened, fingers digging into the couch, suddenly sweating, “It’s…I…” He stopped, calming down, “I helped get rid of your father. Marilyn and I did it together. I thought she was calling out for help, but she wasn’t. She was just reaching through the cages with her claws”

 Felix could feel it, the sweat on Malcolm’s skin. He wondered if he heard something he shouldn’t have, if there was something darker behind Malcolm’s confession. Even in the worst-case scenario, even if he was seated beside a _murderer_ , Felix couldn’t find anything in his heart to hate Malcolm.

“Good. I hope he suffered,” Felix said, confident while Malcolm was wavering.

_He did,_ but Malcolm said nothing, finding no malice in Felix knowing the truth but unable to speak it. He thought back to his ex-wife, thought about how she cast him out the moment she knew she married a murderer. With the last bit of love she had for him, she chose not to press further, chose not to have him arrested, allowed him full custody of Peter. Felix looked at him with no such disdain, almost _proud_ of what he had done, unintentionally saving him.

“I need to tell you the truth,” Malcolm said, leaning in, looking _guilty_ , “Before all of this, before Peter brought you back into our lives, _I hated you_ ,” Felix tilted his head, his bewildering confusion looking precious in Malcolm’s eyes, “I thought you were the same as your mother, feigning innocence, just a petty creature made of malice and spite held in check but a greater evil, and that the moment you were released from your mother, you’d go on and hurt people,” Malcolm watched the hitch in Felix’s breath, the perspiration beading in his hair, the softness in his eyes at the accusation, “Like my son. I thought you would hurt my son, so I despised you. But that’s not you. I was wrong.”

It felt long ago but Felix knew it was only a matter of months. When Peter tormented him, there were moment of rage, undiluted and poisonous, where Felix wanted nothing more than to strangle the life from Peter. All he wanted was to make him pay for all the suffering he heaped on him. He never went through, terrified of what would happen, so he endured it, all of it. It wasn’t sentiment that held him back, just his own cowardice.

“I understand,” Felix said, still staring into Malcolm’s face, unsure what to say next. The older man looked like he wanted to say more but something was holding him back, “I should…get some rest,” Felix said, pulling away first, heading back upstairs, leaving Malcolm on the couch, hands folded as he rested his head upon them, thinking.

 

“Dad! I’m home. And I spotted Neal by the way, I know you have him tailing me,” Peter shouted as he entered, kicking his shoes into the corner.

“Peter,” Felix said, coming down the stairs slowly, looking radiant as he brightened Peter’s day with his serene expression.

Peter couldn’t resist, dropping his bag and meeting Felix on the stairs, grabbing his head and kissing him firmly, bubbly when Felix returned the kiss, smirking at him, “Miss me?”

“Always do,” Felix responded, stepping down to the ground floor.

“Damn, you two, get a room,” Simon said, stepping in with Cory in tow. He looked over to Malcolm, bowing his head politely, “I’m Simon. This is Cory. We’re friends with your son.”

Peter snorted, folding his arms, “Oh, so now we’re friends?”

Malcolm lifted a brow, “Huh. Nice to meet you then. Peter so rarely brings people back. Except Felix. You need me to order a pizza then?”

“It’s fine. They won’t be staying long,” Peter said, leading them upstairs, “They’re just here to talk about a group project.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, I completely believe you,” Malcolm responded, disapproving Peter’s lie but not pressing any further, letting them go upstairs without a hitch.

As they entered his room, Cory glanced into Malcolm room absently, catching sight of the cork board Peter and Malcolm had put together a while ago analyzing Felix’s death. He broke off from the crowd, “Was your dad also looking into this? What’s with the conspiracy board?”

Peter flinched, forgetting that they had left it out while Felix was gone. He rushed to the door, shutting it, “It’s nothing. Just something my dad was working on,” He sighed in relief, noting that Simon and Felix hadn’t seen a thing, “Don’t mention it around Felix, alright? He’s got enough to be worried about it,” As soon as this was over, Peter would revisit this. For now, they had more immediate work to do, first of which involved cluing Felix in on their whole plan.

“A stake-out?” Felix said, puzzled.

“Your mother only acted up when your uncle returned. Ergo, if we get rid of him, she should back off all the same,” Cory explained.

Felix was shaking his head, “W-What about the cops?”

“She won’t say anything, not without him backing her,” Peter explained, “And knowing what she’s done,” _The assisted murder of her husband_ , “She’s not going to be quick to reach out to them unless she’s desperate. That’s why we’re not going after her directly.”

“We need to catch him in the act first, put some blackmail on him instead,” Simon said, leaning back against Peter’s bed, “Then we get to my favourite part. We ambush him, beat him up, scare him out of Storybrooke.”

“That blackmail will serve as collateral,” Peter said, “Stopping him from even attempting to call the cops. Given his personality though, it seems doubtful.”

Simon pointed at Peter, “Exactly that. And the stake out seemed the best option since, well, you know.”

Felix reeled back, dejected, aware of his failure. He sighed, feeling worthless at simple words. Peter reached through the haze and pulled him out, “It’s fine. That’s what the Lost Boys are for.”

“ _Lost Boys_ ,” The words came out from Felix in a gasp.

“Nicholas was right. The name makes it better,” Simon said, chuckling, “I hate that guy.”

Cory shook his head, “Why don’t you give that tough guy act a break?”

“I am,” Simon said, “That’s why I’m here helping you all out. Thought you would’ve figured that out by now?” He cleared his throat loudly, “Not that I’m trying to show off to you about it.”

While Cory and Simon bickered, Peter’s attention was returned to Felix, seeing the boy stare at him with such bliss despite everything, “I thought you’d like it,” _Peter Pan,_ the cool, strong-willed leader of the Lost Boys, _taking Felix away from his hell._

After figuring out a schedule for nightly stake-outs, Cory and Simon broke off and went for their stakeout. Felix was sitting on the floor still, staring at the schedule in his hands, “I should be doing something. I could be bait, try to coax my uncle into doing something illegal.”

“All you need to do is stay safe,” Peter said, turning away from the window, “Does he really look like someone who needs to be provoked into criminal activity?” Felix huffed, the smallest smile on his face, “Are you going to stay tonight?”

“Like I’d leave here after finally coming back,” Felix said, standing up, brushing off his knees.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Peter said, brow quirking up, hands sliding themselves around Felix’s hips, pulling him close, “I wouldn’t leave you anyway,” He said, snickering, pushing Felix lightly onto the bed behind him.

Felix chuckled at Peter approached, backing away on the bed playfully, giving Peter space to crawl on the bed and straddle him, “Am I your hostage now?”

“Exactly that,” Peter said pressing in close, caging Felix in, forcing him to stare deeply into his stormy green eyes, “ _Exactly that,_ ” He repeated, pressing a kiss on Felix’s lips, feeling the boy squirm playfully under him before hooking his arms around his torso. Peter wondered if the kiss would taste so much better once they were free from danger.

“Get a room, please,” Malcolm said, rolling his eyes as he opened the door, “Dinner’s ready, by the way, unless you want Neal to eat your portion too.”

Snickering, Peter looked up with a petulant glare and a quirked brow, “We _are_ in a room. Please.”

“No respect in this household,” Malcolm mused with a lazy gesture before shutting the door behind him.

Peter moved to climb off Felix only to be stopped by a firm grip on his torso. He looked back to Felix, swept away by the delightful expression on his face, his eyes smiling up at him, cheeks flushed just so, “Dinner can wait,” Peter said, lowering himself back onto Felix, eager to continue their kiss, lips smeared all along Felix’s face before latching onto his neck, kissing hard enough to bruise, loving it when Felix mewled.

After dinner, Peter couldn’t stop prodding at the mark, snickering when Felix flinched away, “I wish it was darker.”

“It’s going to bruise tomorrow morning,” Felix said, rubbing at it absently before pulling his hood on, “Stop poking it,” He nearly spat when Peter’s hands skittered under his sweater, gliding across his sides, “You are incorrigible,” Felix snapped, shoving at Peter while the boy wrestled back, happy that Felix was able to resist, his body stronger than it once was.

“Don’t know the meaning of the word,” Peter responded, climbing between his legs and laying down on his chest, “I missed you. In case you didn’t realize it,” He fought the urge to snicker when Felix’s arms wrapped around him tightly, “I guess you missed me too.”

Felix nodded, humming lightly as he shut his eyes and pressed his face into Peter’s hair, “ _Peter Pan._ ”

“That is _not_ going to be my pet name,” Peter said, smacking at Felix’s cheek lightly, “I’m glad that whole _Lost Boys_ thing worked out though. Its nice having a group of friends to talk to.”

There was an immediate shift in mood. Felix suddenly lifting his hands, gesturing playfully, “You look so happy, _so much happier than when you’re just with me_ ,” His tone was incredulous despite the even tone, clearly just playing around. His hands came up, covering his face, “I’m just not good enough for you, am I?”

Peter whipped around immediately, a wicked look on his face as he crushed Felix onto the couch, “How dare you take that tone with me?” He said, lips touching Felix’s equally wicked smile as he spoke, brow quirked up playfully as he stuffed his hands into Felix’s sweater, groping at him playfully as punishment.

“Get a room, you two,” Neal said, eating a slice of beef pie on his plate, trying to watch TV despite the distraction literally on the couch beside him.

“I know, right?” Malcolm said, shoving Felix and Peter’s feet off as he collapsed onto the couch beside them, drinking a beer, “Marilyn should be dropping by any time now.”

Neal looked over to him casually, pointing his fork in Malcolm’s direction, “Want me to take care of it?”

“Rather not. I don’t want her to plot something against Felix if I defy her,” Malcolm said, nearly pouring the beer down his throat, “I’ll try to get drunk before it happens to make her more palatable,” He sensed the apprehension from Felix and immediately reached over Peter to ruffle his hair, “Don’t worry about it. I got this,” He smiled, feeling Felix glow under him at the touch before his hand was promptly smacked away by Peter who replaced Malcolm’s hand on Felix’s head with his own, “Touchy.”

“Will she know I’m here?” Felix said, unconsciously holding Peter tighter.

“Probably. But we have Neal,” Malcolm said, patting his shoulder, “Really got to thank this Michael Darling fellow? Maybe I’ll upgrade my savings account.”

Peter froze, “You met him?”

“No. Neal told me about him,” Malcolm said, “Told me he was sent by Michael to keep an eye on Felix.”

“Just for the first few weeks, but as you know, complications occurred,” Neal added, muting the television, “As soon as this is done, I’m heading back, alright? I just don’t like leaving things half-finished.”

“Tell Wendy I said hi,” Peter said, immediately earning a glare from Neal.

“Who’s Wendy?” Felix asked.

“Oh, you know, a girl, who’s a friend,” Peter responded, staring at Felix, catching all the little quirks in his expression when he was jealous, “We met at night once. You know, for important things,” He let us a sigh when Felix squeezed him between his legs, clutching him even tighter, “Jealousy is a really nice look on you.”

Neal was rolling his eyes. His father was holding in his laugh. When the doorbell rang, Malcolm leapt to his feet, bubbly from alcohol and the mood of the living room, opening the door and greeting Marilyn with a big toothy smile, “Hello _dear_ ,” He said, almost hissing.

“Where’s our son?” She snapped, arms folded, stepping in.

“Nowhere. Because we don’t have a son,” Malcolm replied, hands on his hips, “I’m not sure if you understand how science works but your eyes are blue and my eyes are blue. Its not possible for Felix to be our son.”

Marilyn rolled her eyes, shoving him back, stepping in and immediately spotting Felix on the couch, “Get over here right now.”

Peter kept him pinned to the couch, fighting against the instinct ingrained in him to submit to his mother, “He’s not going with you,” He climbed up onto Felix’s chest, pinning him down before smearing kisses all over his face.

Marilyn growled, storming forward, “Don’t touch my son you degenerate—” She reeled backwards when Neal stood, the man simply folding his arms and watching her back away, “This is none of your business. Get out of the way.”

“I don’t recognize your authority to tell me what is and isn’t my business,” Neal said, unmoving.

“I found your son at the side of the road, drugged with god-knows-what,” Malcolm said, voice harsh despite his tipsiness, “I bet you didn’t even know what happened to him.”

Marilyn paid no attention to either of them, looking over Neal’s shoulder, extending one hand, “Come here, Felix.”

Peter wouldn’t let Felix go, keeping him pinned down, stroking his cheek affectionately. He held his chin, thumb gliding over his scar, locking their gaze together. _Look at me. Not her. Pay attention to only me._ Felix obeyed without words, the rest of the world fading away into darkness.

“Felix!” Marilyn shouted, gritting her teeth, wild eyes starting to _quiver_ before she shut them, breathing in slowly, throwing her head back smugly, “Fine. If you’re going to be like that. Do what you want,” She looked to Malcolm, her pleased expression betraying none of her fury as she stepped out, bumping shoulders with Malcolm as she did so.

Malcolm shut the door, locking it tight before swinging back around the couch, throwing himself on top of it, “That went well!” He gave Neal a pat on the shoulder when the man sat back down, “Make that a deluxe account at the bank.”

From where he was, Peter could feel Felix’s heartbeat slow, could feel his lungs deflate. He placed his hands on his chest, pushing gently to get his attention. Felix returned to his serene self, lost in Peter’s eyes for the sake of being lost in Peter’s eyes. Peter knew this wasn’t the end, knew that something bad would be coming, but this time he was prepared. This time, he had the Lost Boys ready.

A sudden mirthfulness came over Felix. Peter hummed curiously, “What is it?”

“Neal is so _attractive_ when he’s aggressive. Isn’t he? So forceful.” Felix said, chuckling when Peter’s left eye twitched, his pout stretching his lips even further down. Felix leaned in, the tiniest smile on his lips, “Jealousy is a really nice look on you.”

“Forceful, huh?” Peter said, licking his lips.

 

“ _Ah, nnh,”_ Felix moaned, flexing his wrists which were _tied to the headboard_ with a scarf, loose enough for him to break out if he _wanted_ to. The memory of his mother trying to take him away was lost in the darkness of Peter’s bedroom. He rolled his hips, purposely grinding them against Peter’s while he nipped at his neck, suckling it till he was sure every single kiss would leave a mark.

“I hope you have a turtleneck sweater,” Peter hummed, licking up his collarbone all the way to his ear, nipping it till his teeth left a mark, “Or a nice scarf.”

Felix’s head lolled to the side, desperate for air to cool off his aching flesh, “I like you when you’re jealous,” He gasped when Peter reached into his pajama bottoms, the devilish smile on his face stretching even wider as Felix stared at him with wide-eyed surprise, “P-Peter…!”

Peter stroked him harshly, humming playfully as his cock hardened in his palms. He chuckled darkly, climbing up against, licking at Felix’s neck, “ _Like_ me?” Peter cooed, “Is that all?”

Clouded with lust, goofy smile on his face, Felix sighed out, “ _I love you, Peter._ ”

The words struck him like a cold breeze, stiffening his body. Peter’s eyes softened immediately, unaware of the weight that they carried when he said the words in his head, words Felix said so easily. He licked his lips, testing the waters, lifting Felix’s knees as he pressed his hips flush against Felix’s, the heat between them obscene. He grinded forward, both groaning and writhing in the bed. Felix had broke free from the bonds, arms tight around Peter’s body, hanging onto him with all his strength as the two nearly cried out, making a mess of their undergarments as they came.

Peter was pressed into the crook of Felix’s neck, admiring the darkened colours his neck had taken. Without Felix’s eyes on him, Peter whispered, “I love you too,” He pressed closer to Felix, an awkward, unsure smile on his face that Felix didn’t notice.

_Peter loves Felix._ The words somehow explained everything.

**Friday March 12 th, 2010**

“What? A turtleneck?” Malcolm said, puzzled at his son’s question, looking through his closet absently, “I don’t know. Why?” He turned, immediately spotting Felix behind his son running away and covering the obvious bruises all over his neck, “Seriously, Peter?”

“I missed him,” Peter said, shrugging.

“Yeah, I did too, but you don’t see me sucking his neck blue,” Malcolm replied, earning an eye roll from his son, “Keep in mind you’re still going to school. And what his mother might do if she saw that.”

“Marilyn won’t see him,” Peter said, “I won’t let her,” Simon and Cory were staking out last night and caught nothing out of the ordinary. It was Thomas and Nicholas’s turn tonight and after that, Rufio and Peter would do the stake out. They would get something on Mikey and drive him out of town in these few days, “I’m bringing Felix over to Rufio’s tonight.”

“Whatever you’re planning,” Malcolm said, holding his son’s shoulders, “I trust you. Just stay safe, alright? You are the most important person in the world to me,” He pulled his son into a hug, knowing that he was planning on diving into danger but also knowing that stopping Peter would only hurt him more.

Peter returned the hug, letting go of his bombast briefly, “Thanks dad.”

“Anyway,” Malcolm said, releasing his son, reaching into the back of his closet and taking out a purple turtleneck sweater, “It might be a bit wide on him, but this should work.”

Peter smiled, carrying it back, yanking it reluctantly over Felix’s head, “Here you go. Perfect.”

“It’s purple,” Felix muttered, staring at it with a disinterested look.

Peter shrugged, “So?”

“It’s not black,” Felix said, maintaining his flat tone.

“You could use a colour in your wardrobe,” Peter said, fixing his collar, “It’ll match your neck.”

Peter would never admit how much he loved it when Felix huffed at him with reddened ears and a blushing face. He figured Felix already knew.

On his way to school, they ended up running into Nicholas who eyed Felix with curiosity as they left the train station and made their way to the campus, “I feel like we’ve never met,” He said, “But I’ve seen you around for sure. Yeah, you’re that beanpole skeleton guy.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, “Beanpole…what?”

“You know, you’re like really tall,” Nicholas mimed with his hands, “And really skinny.”

“Ah,” Felix replied, looking to Peter with a mildly annoyed look.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Nicholas said, waving his hands, “It’s just really easy to see you over the crowds. If you think about, that’s actually a good thing. Or maybe a bad thing if you’re trying to hide.”

Peter sighed, resting his face in his hands briefly, “Nicholas, Nick, Nibs, whatever you want to be called. How are you still in school?”

Nicholas sputtered, throwing his hands up in an incredulous gesture, “Excuse you. I’m in line for valedictorian.”

Felix suppressed a chuckle; Peter had never quirked his brow higher in his life, “I don’t believe that for a second,” Peter said after shooting Felix a quick look.

“No, its true,” Thomas said, somehow materializing behind all of them, “Life is just not fair.”

Nicholas slung an arm over Thomas, snickering, “Come on. You’re proud of me,” He said, patting his injured hand on Thomas’s chest and immediately reeling. He pointed at Felix with his good hand, “See? He likes me.”

Felix bowed his head, hiding his smile under his hood, “It’s nothing—” He spat when something _rammed_ into his right shoulder, a large shadow eclipsing the path to school, staring at him with wild, dilated eyes. Felix froze on the spot, staring up at his uncle. His lips were quivering, unable to speak.

“Hey there, nephew,” Mikey said, backing Felix up as if his friends weren’t there, “You weren’t home last night. Nothing bad happened, right?” He closed in on him, eyes locked throughout, getting stronger as Felix’s trembling got worse, “You’re not looking so good. Maybe you should go home,” His lips were twisting upward, unblinking eyes filled with mirth as he licked his lips and reached for Felix’s arm.

“Get away from him,” Peter snarled, slapping his hand away, standing between them, almost comically dwarfed by this giant. He reached behind him, taking Felix’s clammy hand into his own, giving him strength, “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

The strike was too quick for a man so seemingly bulky. The world was spinning around him, his vision choppy and disorienting even before the pain of the hit bled through. His head was ringing from the strike, shutting down briefly from the sheer _impact_. Peter reeled on the ground, coughing out a spot of blood, his right cheek ablaze with heat. He spat out an obscenity when he saw Mikey’s feet turning to him, steps sending tremors as he approached.

“Whoa. Back up,” Thomas’s voice echoed in the back of Peter’s mind.

Felix was trapped where he was, too scared to move. Thomas and Nicholas were in no such position, standing between Peter and Mikey. The wild-eyed man was almost amused, flexing his hands, “You just made a big mistake.”

Thomas and Nicholas shared a quick look, blinking once before turning back to Mikey and reaching into their jacket and jeans pocket respectively, each of them pulling out a switchblade and brandishing them, the click of the ejecting blade making Mikey step back.

“Who just made a mistake?” Thomas said.

At the threats, clearly outnumbered, Mikey backed off, growling when he looked at Felix before marching off. As soon as the threat was gone, Felix deflated quickly, rushing to Peter’s side, helping him up, “Are you okay?”

His cheek would be swelling for the day but other than that, Peter felt fine. He took Felix’s hand, pulling himself to his feet and stumbling forward, immediately caught by Felix who steadied him, “Nicholas, Thomas,” He called out as the two eyed Mikey crossing the street, “Thanks.”

“No problem. We got your back,” Thomas said, folding the blade back into the handle, “That’s what we’re here for.”

“Hey! We’re matching,” Nicholas exclaimed, back to his chipper self, pointing at Thomas’s switchblade.

“I bought this _with_ you. Of course, they’re matching,” Thomas said, huffing loudly, “Valedictorian…” He gave Peter a pat on the shoulder, steadying him, “You promised a party after this. I’m holding you to that.”

Peter smiled, brow quirking, confidence returning, “I always deliver.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Nicholas said, not to Peter, but to Felix, whacking his shoulder playfully, “We got this,” He chirped, laughing when Felix smiled, comfortably sharing his happiness with someone that wasn’t Peter or Malcolm.

The four broke apart when they arrived at school, Nicholas and Thomas going to class while Felix and Peter once again showed up in the nurse’s office to patch Peter up. The nurse was out so Felix helped himself to bandages and ice, holding the ice pack against Peter’s swollen cheek as he patched up a small cut caused by the ring on Mikey’s hand.

“How are you feeling?” Felix said, “Dizzy? Lightheaded?”

“I’m fine,” Peter replied, taking the ice while Felix put the bandages away, “It looks way worse than it is,” He watched Felix, drawing his brows together. He wasn’t shaking, wasn’t unfocused, hands still as they properly locked the cabinet, yet he seemed terrified, “How about you? How are you?”

Felix looked to him, betraying not a shred of terror, “I’m okay,” He scratched at his neck, approaching Peter sitting on the bed, lowering himself so he could stare into his eyes, “I’ve never been better.”

_Never had friends who stood up for him. Never had anyone stand up against his family for him. Never been better._ Peter figured it out shortly after they split up, going to their separate classes. Building bonds for Felix solidified his safety, like anchors to prevent him from slipping away like he did in Peter’s original timeline. Felix’s happiness led to Felix’s survival. At the thought, Peter realized he never felt such achievement in his original timeline, never felt like he accomplished something that would last. Like his graphic novel series, everything he had was shallow and failed to stand on its own. _Not this_. Peter would be damned if this faded just like everything else.

When Peter saw Felix again at lunch, this was why he walked the boy into an abandoned classroom in the basement, pressed him up against the whiteboard, and smeared him with kisses, teeth scraping at him as the boy crooned and sighed.

“What about—” Felix gasped, finding Peter’s teeth nibbling at his already tender neck, “Your injury?”

The dull ache was almost pleasant now, a concrete symbol of his accomplishments. Peter pulled Felix’s collar down, desperately sucking on the bruises, darkening them the best he could, “I barely feel it. I mean,” His eyes flickered up, dark and beautiful, swallowing Felix, “It’s a lot less worse than yours.”

“And whose fault is that?” Felix groaned out, sighing, eyes fluttering shut when Peter continued his ministrations, satisfied with tasting Felix’s neck for lunch.

 

_Nicholas. Thomas. Youre up today_

_Yes sir! I got the snacks :)_

_For the love of god, bring something other than pumpkin buddies_

_;)_

Peter shook his head, putting the phone away, grabbing his things from his locker before locking it shut. He turned, ready to leave, until his vice principal approached him with a harsh look, “Peter Banning. You’re coming with me right now.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, honestly confused, “Why?” She didn’t respond but he didn’t argue, desperate to dispute whatever she wanted to dispute and return to Felix’s side. He stepped into the vice principal’s office, seeing Cory, Simon, and Rufio sitting inside as well, looking meek and quiet, “Oh shit,” He whispered under his breath.

“We received a tip that you’re starting a gang with these gentlemen, as well as Thomas Oddy and Nicholas Bates,” The vice principal said, standing over them, tapping her manicured nails on the side of her arm, “Well? Is this true?”

“If by gang, you mean club. Yeah, we’re starting a club,” Peter said, staring at the boys, finding them all waiting on _him_. He licked his lips, drawing on all the charm he naturally mustered, “We’re putting together an outreach program, to reach out to students that are targeted by bullies, victimized.”

The vice principal tilted her head back, “They did mention Felix Forrester being involved in this.”

“He’s the first person we’re reaching out to. It’s…penitence, for how I’ve been treating him,” Peter said, “That’s how it came to be. I wanted to fix things between us, but I couldn’t do it alone,” He gestured to the boys, “That’s why I have all my boys here. Rufio helped me recruit some friendly, willing students,” The boy gave a quick wave, nodding along to Peter’s words, “Cory and Simon hopped on right away,” The vice principal immediately gave him a scrutinizing look, “I know, I know. Simon’s a bit of a jerk but he wants to fix his image, especially for Cory’s sake.”

“I see,” The vice principal said, eyeing a chuckling Rufio and a stiff-faced Simon.

“Thomas and Nicholas also jumped to the call. I mean, Nicholas is valedictorian for a reason and Thomas, well, Thomas is there to make sure he doesn’t lose anymore fingers,” Peter said, looking to Curly, “Right?”

Curly smiled back at him, a bit worried, “He does have a bad tendency of injuring his hands.”

The vice principal seemed pleased, sitting back in her chair, meeting them at eye level, “I want to hear progress reports about this group. An outreach program has always been on the backburner in this school. This may be a good opportunity to kickstart this.”

Peter felt everyone around him let out a breath. He kept his stoicism, smiling, friendly, open to whatever idea the vice principal had for them, “That would be great,” He tapped his feet, feigning impatience, “Can we go? We have an activity planned to get to know each other.”

The scholarly woman tilted her head back, her expression sharp. Peter immediately figured out why his father was attracted to her, “Very well. We will follow up on this another time.”

Nodding, Peter quickly ushered the boys out, all of them holding their breaths and quiet until they exited the school howling and cheering, slapping Peter’s back.

“Drinks on me!” Rufio shouted, grabbing Peter in a headlock, “Well-spun, Peter, well-spun.”

“Best liars tell the truth,” Peter replied, chuckling when Simon smacked him lightly on the arm, “Oh please, you deserved that.”

Simon rolled his eyes, immediately distancing himself from Cory, “Yeah, I’m fixing up my image but _not_ for him!” Cory shook his head, smile playing on his lips as he marched on ahead, “Anyway, we should regroup with Devin.”

Peter stopped where he was, looking to Simon, confused, “Devin?”

Simon returned the look, “Yeah. He said he’d take Felix,” He glanced over at Rufio, “Isn’t Devin in on this?”

_Devin_ , the loudest objector to Felix’s inclusion. While he mellowed out and simply treated Felix with indifference, even breaking bread with Peter a couple days later, Rufio did not ever consider him for their team. Rufio was on his phone immediately, all of them rushing to the front of the school, searching for Felix.

“Devin?” Rufio said, when said boy picked up the phone. Everyone’s eyes were on him. Peter was nearly hysterical, “Why did you take Felix?” He paused, waiting for his response, “His _dad_?” Peter stiffened at the word, “Whatever. Its fine. Talk to you later,” He hung up, looking to Peter for context, “He said _Felix’s dad_ asked him to find Felix, told him to bring him down the street.”

_Tall, Blond, silver-eyed, easily mistakable,_ Peter’s breath hitched, “It’s Mikey. He took him.”

“Call Nicholas and Thomas. They need to get to Marilyn’s apartment right away,” Peter shouted, voice breaking even as he tried his best to steady it.

Cory was on his phone immediately, all of them frantically leaving school property, rushing to the train station, “Wait!” Cory shouted, “They’re still at Nicholas’s place. We can catch a ride with them if we go now.”

Peter nodded, confirming Cory’s order, all of them running away from the train station. Despite the direness of the situation, Peter felt inexplicably calm, as if the people around him were his safety net, making up for what he lacked. This exact feeling was what he wanted to share with Felix.

 

“What are you looking so glum for? I’m just here to make sure you get home safely,” Mikey said, glancing over to Felix beside him as he drove, “ _Those_ are just there to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. God knows how many times you’ve done something stupid.”

Felix’s eyes flickered down, glaring at the zip tie holding his wrists together. His eyes flickered back up, trying to keep the same amount of hatred but failing immediately when his uncle glanced back at him, matching Felix’s sudden fury.

“What’s with that look?” He growled, looking back at the road, pulling up beside the shitty apartment Felix was forced to call home. He stepped out of the car, circling around and opening the door, nearly ripping Felix out from the seat, dragging him by the zip tie till his wrists felt numb, “Move faster,” He said, yanking Felix forward even when he stumbled and slipped.

Mikey nearly threw Felix against the side of the couch when he finally opened the door, shutting it behind him while Felix scrambled on the floor, trying to get away, “Hold still,” Mikey said, taking out a pocket knife, slicing the tie without any care for his flesh. He lifted his hands, holding them up, a mocking expression on his face, “See? No problem, right?”

Felix retracted his wrists, still crumpled on the ground, staring at Mikey with wide, fearful eyes like a small child. He flinched when Mikey stepped away, gripping into the grimy carpet to quell his shaking. He flinched again when his uncle stepped around him, waiting for his hand to come down, waiting for the pain.

“Can’t believe a chickenshit like you is my nephew,” Mikey said, picking up a stray beer, shaking it before taking a sip.

Felix stayed tucked behind the couch, shaking uncontrollably, expression making him look like a child. He shut his eyes, hating his weakness, hating that all the strength Peter gave him immediately dissipated in the face of danger. _What good would he be to Peter like this?_ He stood slowly, clutching the backpack on his shoulder and heading towards the door.

Felix expected his uncle to scold him, to shout slurs at him, to jerk him around and shove him to the ground. He didn’t expect the metal bat slamming into his side, catching his left side and sending him sprawling on the ground, ribs exploding with pain. He couldn’t even manage a scream, crumpled over, silenced by shock as he panted and writhed on the ground.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Mikey said.

Running on pure instinct, Felix scrambled to his feet, panting and whining in pain, gritting his teeth as he did _anything_ to distance himself from his uncle. He collided with the wall, rushing into the backroom, despite _knowing_ that there was no escape in this dingy apartment.

His uncle caught up to him quickly, grabbing the back of his sweater, shoving him forward into his mother’s bedroom and hurling him onto the bed, dropping the bat beside him as he climbed over Felix and wrestled him down, twisting Felix’s arm till he screamed before he pinned him down on his back. Felix’s eyes were dilated, the silver hidden behind pitch black voids. He struggled despite knowing it would make everything worse; he screamed even when his uncle pressed his hand against his mouth, threatening to suffocate him.

“Shut up, shut up,” Mikey hissed out, looking straight into Felix’s eyes, their grey eyes matching in the dull light of the bedroom, noses touching as he screamed into his face, “ _Shut the hell up_!” He howled, panting like an animal, smiling when Felix finally silenced himself, “Can’t believe you’re part of the family. Look at you,” He kept his hand tight over Felix’s face, the other one pinning one of Felix’s arms down while he straddled his body, pushing all of his weight on Felix’s meager torso, “You’re scrawny. You’re scared of everything,” He chuckled when Felix’s free hand came up, shoving at the hand over his mouth to no avail, “And on top of that, you’re letting Malcolm’s boy fuck you,” He released Felix’s wrist, yanking down his collar, revealing the ring of hickeys left behind by Peter, “You think I didn’t notice that?”

Felix responded by digging his nails into his wrist, mustering hatred from his words. He would not let his uncle defile Peter’s memory, Peter’s touch. He took a deep breath when his uncle released his mouth but found no reprieve when the hands _wrapped around his neck and squeezed._ The hatred died, replaced with desperation as Felix clawed at his uncle’s hands, spittle dripping from his mouth.

Mikey growled wordlessly, pushing all his weight forward, feeling Felix’s neck _crumple_ under his strength.

Felix’s lungs were burning, his neck straining like a dead branch under someone’s foot. The sting of his bruises agitated by his uncle’s hands was barely noticeable under the haze coming with unconsciousness. His vision was blacking out, his mind getting hazy, _adrenaline running through his veins._ For that moment, that brief adrenaline rush, Felix remembered what he had taken from Peter after he dropped it so long ago to protect himself.

His uncle screamed; the pressure around his neck was gone. Felix took a deep breath, heaving on his side as he fought to maintain consciousness, switchblade in his hand after yanking it out from his sweater pocket, blood coating it and staining the bed beneath him. He propped himself up, wiping away the spit drooling down his mouth, glaring at his uncle who writhed on the floor, clutching the wound in his left shoulder. Felix wasted no time. The moment he could steady himself on his feet, he lunged over his uncle and rushed outside, finding himself sliding against the walls and slamming into them accidentally but still making distance, reaching the door.

Steps followed after Felix but he had no chance to look back, “You fucking brat!” Mikey snarled, behind him, suddenly, filled with rage as he struck Felix in the back of the head with his metal bat using all his strength.

Felix tumbled forward, crumpling on the ground, vision spinning, head throbbing. Blood was filling his vision, mixing with his uncle’s blood. He reached to wipe it away but found his hand _crushed_ on the floor by the bat, another strike coming down, breaking his ankle, sides crunching, shoulders folding, frantic, wild, uncontrollable. His eyes were open, but darkness encroached his vision anyway. There was too much pain to comprehend what was happening. All Felix knew was that his uncle had dropped the bat and was whispering expletives as he paced back and forth, cursing Felix for _making him do this._

Everything faded shortly after.

 

“There, there,” Nicholas said, pulling up close.

The apartment door was open. Mikey was outside, rushing into his car, shaking as he walked. Thomas narrowed his eyes, peering over the dashboard, “Is he high on something?” He huffed, “Oh shit. Oh shit.”

Peter looked up, immediately seeing it, blood spilling from his shoulder, hastily bandaged up and covered by an old jacket. A spark of pride filled Peter’s chest realizing that Felix fought back. It died immediately though when Mikey climbed into the front seat and drove off. All of them could see it: A bundle wrapped up in a tarp in his backseat.

The car was dead silent, everyone gaining their nerve. By the time everyone collected themselves, they noticed that Nicholas was already driving, tailing Mikey carefully. Thomas tapped at the dashboard, trying to still his hands, “Careful. He might know you’re following him.”

“He would’ve caught on already back at the apartment,” Peter said, “He’s not thinking straight right now.”

“How could anyone…” Cory said, reeling immediately, covering his mouth as Simon quickly dumped out a supply bag filled with snacks and handed it to Cory, holding his hair back as he threw up.

Rufio looked back at Cory and Simon, feeling queasy himself. He looked to Peter beside him, never seeing him so scared in his entire life, “So we’re going through with this?” Peter lifted his head, glancing over to Rufio with none of the confidence he had in the vice principal’s office, “We hunt him down. We drive him off.”

Peter was unreadable as he spoke, “We _kill_ him,” His eyes were glistening with tears, but he wouldn’t let them fall, “We make him suffer before he dies. _Just like what he did to Felix the first time_.”

“We don’t know. He could be alive,” Cory choked out.

“I don’t care. We kill him,” Peter snapped, furious, striking the window with his fist.

Nicholas glanced at the rear-view mirror, “Careful with the car. You’re not going to get anything done with a broken hand and I’m not returning this car to my parents with a broken window.”

Simon reached forward, grabbing Peter’s shoulder, “Take a deep breath. We won’t get anything done if you don’t have a cool head,” He resisted when Peter struck at him, enduring the hit, “Do what you want. I’m good at taking punches.”

“Peter, he’s right,” Rufio said, reaching out as well, holding Peter’s other shoulder, “I gathered everyone to help you protect Felix, to help you do good. I didn’t do this so you could turn everyone into an accessory to murder.”

Peter shut his eyes tight, hanging his head, “I failed him. I failed him again.”

“Then do right by him,” Rufio said, shaking him once, “He would want this.”

“Hey guys,” Thomas shouted, turning around from the front seat, “He’s turning into here.”

The drive wasn’t far, barely even out of Storybrooke. Peter opened his eyes, seeing a dilapidated junkyard that appeared barely operational. The man in the front gate didn’t even bother stopping either car from entering, completely entranced by whatever he was watching on TV.

Thomas pulled out a cannister from his jacket, taking a quick sip before passing it behind him, “For good luck,” He took the mask that Simon passed forward, yanking it over his face as Nicholas stepped out from the car, opening the trunk and revealing all manner of tools that could be weaponized.

“Best I could manage,” Nicholas said, taking a crow bar.

Peter took the metal bat in the back out of karmic vengeance, storming ahead of everyone like a reaper of death. He could see Mikey from afar, _thank god he was so tall_. The man was frantic, completely obsessed with the bundle he was dragging in the tarp, desperate to stuff it into some car to be junked and forget about it completely. The clincher to his fate was the arm that fell out from the tarp, twisted and purple.

Despite Peter’s rage, despite his vicious words in the car, it was _Rufio_ that struck first, hitting Mikey in the gut with a wrench, kicking him onto his back. Thomas, Simon, and Nicholas joined him after, beating him relentlessly but _not fatally_ , getting their hands dirty so Peter could keep his clean from the worst outcome. Simon broke away from the fight, rushing over to the tarp where Cory was, pulling it back, gasping in horror at the carnage but immediately putting his fear aside, biting down on his lip, hands pressing at Felix’s body, feeling for a pulse, a breath, _anything._

Peter stood where he was, fingers tight against the bat. _I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed._ Peter shut his eyes tight, fighting tears. _Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. He deserves it. He deserves it._

_“Nothing to worry about…We got this,”_

_“I didn’t do this so you could turn everyone into an accessory to murder.”_

Miserable but in the company of friends, Felix said to him with a smile: _“I’ve never been better.”_

The rage, boiling and bubbling inside of him, simmered to a halt. Peter dropped the bat, rushing to Cory’s side, “Go help them out,” He said, gesturing to Simon. The boy was eager to join them, puling his mask back on and kicking at the man crumpled on the ground. Peter leaned over Felix, seeing nothing but a pile of broken joints and pools of blood.

“There’s a heartbeat,” Cory said, ear pressed to Felix’s chest, “It’s there but its slow,” He took Peter’s hand, guiding him under Felix’s head, “Like that. It’ll stop him from choking on his own blood,” He took out a thick piece of gauze from his backpack, holding it tight against a gash across Felix’s head, “We need to get an ambulance.”

Peter’s eyes fell upon Mikey, still wanting his death but knowing that there was something more urgent. He nodded, rushing over to the boys unmasked, gesturing for them to stop. He stood over the cowering man, planting his foot on his shoulder and forcing him backwards onto his knees, “That was for Felix,” He growled, glad that the boys held back, glad that Mikey was lucid enough to understand fear, “Take your truck and get out of Storybrooke. We see you here ever again and we’ll finish what we started,” He kicked him backwards, “Get cops involved and you know what’ll happen.”

Mikey spat at them, throwing toothless slurs as he crawled backwards, climbing into his car and driving off, notably in the direction out from Storybrooke. As soon as the coast was clear, Peter made the call, asking for an ambulance to the junkyard. When the call was done, he lowered the phone, approaching his Lost Boys tending to Felix on the tarp.

“We’re all on the same page then?” Peter said.

“Felix went missing from school. We went looking for him,” Simon started.

“We saw this mysterious man driving off with him,” Cory continued, changing the gauze when the blood soaked through it, “So we followed him.”

“Into the junkyard, where we saw him trying to stuff the body somewhere,” Thomas said, “We roughed him up a bit. It was self-defence. We weren’t sure if he was going to attack us.”

“Then he got away while we were tending to Felix,” Nicholas said, “We didn’t recognize him.”

“And we’ve disposed of the weapons and masks in the junkyard. We’re clean,” Rufio said, “Of course, that’s not part of the story.”

“Good job everyone,” Peter said, staying by Felix’s side, feeling his fingers suddenly curling around his. Startled, Peter looked down, seeing Felix reaching out to him, barely lucid, “It’s going to be okay.”

 

**Saturday March 13 th, 2010**

Malcolm swept a hand over his face, breathing slowly, clutching at a cup of stale coffee he received from the waiting room nurse. He looked up at his son, reaching out to him when he walked back, “Stop pacing and get some rest in the car. It’s not helping.”

“He’s still in surgery,” Peter said, pulling away, “I can’t help it.”

Rufio stepped into the waiting room, gesturing to Simon who was dozing off in his seat, “You can get some rest now. I’ll take your place,” Simon didn’t respond, simply nodding to him before breaking off. He approached Peter, walking him away into an empty hallway, “The junkyard owner saw Mikey leaving so he can validate that part of the story. It’s weird though. The cops aren’t looking any deeper into this. That’s not normal. You got something to do with this?”

Peter huffed, realizing his mother was still the chief and looking out for him despite leaving him with his father, “Maybe,” This would be the death of her: Her leniency to her ex-husband and son, “Don’t worry about it. Just be glad that we’re past that complication.”

“You do not look well, man,” Rufio said, holding him by the shoulder, steadying him when he began to sway, “Get some rest.”

“I can’t. What if Marilyn comes here?” Peter said, finding even a simple gesture exhausting to do.

“That’s what the Lost Boys are for,” Rufio said, walking him back into the waiting room, “We’ve got shifts planned out.”

Peter huffed at the thought, wanting to laugh but finding no strength to, “Nothing builds comradery like vigilante justice.”

Rufio chuckled, lowering Peter into a chair and sitting beside him, “Tell me about it,” He looked over Peter’s shoulder, offering a hand to Malcolm, “Rufus Riordan. I’m a friend.”

“’Rufio’, huh?” Malcolm said, taking his hand, “I’ve heard so much about you. Thanks for looking out for my son. He can be quite a handful.”

Rufio huffed, slumping in his chair, “Tell me about it.”

Malcolm stood after a brief talk, walking over to the coffee table to refill his cup. Despite scolding his son, Malcolm had stayed up the night as well and was simply powering through everything with caffeine. He waited patiently at the pot, watching the trickle of coffee stop before pouring himself a fresh cup, cursing when he spilled half of it.

“Goddamn it,” He hissed, wiping off the cup before taking it back with him, sitting down beside his son again and sipping at his cup, “This coffee sucks.”

“This waiting room sucks,” Peter said.

“This coffee sucks more,” Malcolm added.

“You know what doesn’t suck? Sleeping,” Rufio said, watching son and father dismiss him with a similar, lazy gesture.

“I need to be here. Peter did his part doing _whatever_ you guys did,” Malcolm said, shutting his eyes when a painful thought came to him, “I didn’t do anything. That’s why I’m here to make up for that,” He looked to Rufio and Peter, bothered by how his usual persuasive skills were as dead as his mood, “Get Peter out of here and I’ll pay you 100 dollars.”

Rufio perked up, “Holy shit, really?” He grabbed Peter’s arm and stood, “Come on. I need a new keyboard.”

“I am not leaving,” Peter grumbled, “Not until—” He stiffened as the door opened, as the surgeon that wheeled Felix in stepped out. Suddenly awake, Peter and Malcolm leapt to their feet, rushing to the surgeon, “What happened? How is he?”

Her expression was peaceful, her smile reassuring, “He’s stable. He’s resting right now.”

“Can we visit him?” Peter said, stumbling over his words.

“Only two visitors are allowed right now. We can allow more visitors when he’s healthier,” The surgeon explained, “Is there any immediate family here?”

Malcolm growled, finding himself pacing despite scolding his son earlier, “Like I would let that bitch near her son,” He stepped forward, “I’m going in there.”

Rufio nodded to Peter, relenting his spot. Peter nearly charged into the ICU with his father in tow, following closely after the surgeon, desperate to see Felix, desperate to tell him everything would be okay. He turned into the room and nearly reeled back, horrified at the tubes hooked into him, in his arms, one in his mouth to help him breathe, the bandages and casts all over his body, his eyes still shut and swollen with bruises.

“Y-You said he was stable,” Peter choked out.

“He is,” The surgeon said, “But it’ll be a while before he’s healthy enough to talk.”

Felix’s eyes flickered slightly, peeking through his swollen eyelids. He didn’t move, didn’t react, but Peter could tell he was looking right at him. He tried to smile, tried to stay strong, but _it was too much_. Peter crouched on the floor, hands over his face, sobbing at Felix’s near death, sobbing at his failure to protect him, sobbing at the ugliness in himself that almost prevented him from rescuing Felix.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Malcolm said, kneeling, holding onto his son, “Everything will be okay.”

Peter forced a scoff, tucking his head into Malcolm’s shoulder. That was what he wanted to say to Felix.

 

**Monday March 15 th, 2010**

Feeling like he was bursting out from underwater, taking his first breath in a long while, Felix sprung to life in bed, breathing deeply, feeling the imprint of a tube against his lips and throat once helping him breathe when he was too weak. His throat was dry but when he tried to cough, his ribs screamed in pain. He fell back against the pillow, flexing the only hand he could feel, reaching for a button at the side of his bed and pressing it frantically. His other hand was still bound in a cast, suspended in the air, just like both his legs. Felix sighed, exasperated, rolling his head to the side and shutting his eyes.

The nurse came in quickly, holding cups of water, applesauce, bedpans, anything to make him more comfortable. Felix just wanted to know what was going on, where he was. The memories came back quickly as the nurses explained. _His uncle_ , chasing him down, beating him into a pulp with his bat. After that, everything went black. Through the shadows, Felix made out some images, could make out _Peter_ in all of them, hanging onto him as if his life depended on it, sobbing in frustration. Felix could piece it together even without the context: His uncle tried to kill him and Peter saved him.

Felix bit his lip, fighting the urge to cry from happiness. Once the nurses left, Felix surveyed the room, finding pictures and gifts stacked around. The last thing in the world Felix expected if he ended up in the hospital was _gifts_. He had to remember, had to cling to the thoughts, that things were different now. He had Peter. He had Malcolm.

Across from him, Felix could see sketches of himself and Peter pinned on a cork board, an ‘A+’ scribbled on the primary picture. _That art project_ , the one that drew him and Peter together again, the gift and curse, something Felix thought he’d never see again when his uncle was beating the life from him. He closed his eyes tight, fighting the tears, unable to believe that with everything he had gone through, a couple _sketches_ would be what would bring him to tears. It hurt to cry but it felt too good to stop.

“Felix?” Malcolm’s voice was crisp over the pounding in his head, “Welcome back.”

Felix couldn’t stop the smile, couldn’t stop himself from reaching for Malcolm, beckoning him closer, weaving their fingers together carefully. Right now, buried in aches and restrained by broken limbs, Malcolm felt like the sun, bearing down on him pleasantly with sky blue eyes.

Peter hummed as he approached Felix’s room, gift bundled up in the tote bag on his shoulder, turning and cringing at the sight of his father already by Felix’s side, talking to him _before he got the chance_ , “Wha—” He charged forward, shoving his father off the stool and immediately taking his place, “How have you been?” His breath hitched when his father’s arm came around his neck, putting him in a headlock before stealing the stool from under him. Peter kicked the stool away, both tumbling to the ground in a clumsy pile.

Malcolm rolled Peter off, “Gosh, no respect in this household!” He huffed, ruffling his son’s hair and retrieving the stool, “Do as you please. I’m getting a snack,” Setting the stool back, Malcolm marched out, shooting Felix a wink before stepping out of sight.

As if his father was never there, Peter greeted Felix once more, “Good to see you again.”

Felix swallowed, wetting his lips, speaking in a raspy voice, “How are you?” He knew his throat was damaged by how viciously his uncle throttled him before beating him. He wondered if it would ever heal.

“Never been better,” Peter said, tilting his head, stroking Felix’s wrist slowly, “The Lost Boys will be really excited to hear that you’re awake.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, “Lost Boys? Ah,” The memory was briefly lost. The boys that Rufio rounded up to help him, to protect him. He wasn’t sure what happened to them but he did remember enjoying his time with some of them.

“If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have been able to—” Peter stopped himself, lowering his gaze, remembering how close he was to losing Felix, “They rescued you. We rescued you.”

The thought was comforting. Felix figured he saw the irony in it before Peter did, “I was saved… by Peter Pan and the Lost Boys?”

Peter chuckled, rubbing at his chin, “When you put it like that. They want to see you again. I’m thinking we hold a party after all this,” He reached into the tote bag, “Right, before you doze off. I got you something,” He waved the _Peter Pan novel_ in front of him, “Thought it’d be symbolic or inspiring or something.”

“It is,” Felix replied, touching the surface with his hand, “Symbolic, inspiring, and something,” His hand drifted down, returning to the bed. Perspiration was spotting his forehead; the simple act of talking exhausting him.

Peter placed the book beside him, reaching forward before Felix fell asleep, taking his good hand with both of his own, “Felix,” He said, firm, “I almost failed you, _no_ , I did fail you. I failed you so badly and that’s why you’re here. I should’ve protected you like I promised to, like how Michael protected you with Neal.”

Felix’s eyes were shut but he was awake, mumbling his words out, “Peter never failed me.”

Peter mouthed the words, releasing Felix’s hand slowly as he dozed off. He stood, staring at Felix, trying so hard to believe his words. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, ushering him back. Malcolm nodded to him, looking back at Felix, “You realize you’re not getting dessert for a week, right?”

Peter turned his nose up, “It was worth it.” _Always, no matter what it took_ ¸ getting to talk with Felix made it worth it.

 

**Friday March 26 th, 2010**

“What the hell is this?” Simon said, pulling the bottle from his lips, “Pumpkin flavoured beer?”

Nicholas took the bottle from his hands, “What? Its my favourite.”

Simon rolled his eyes, swearing in French as he flung himself backwards onto the couch. Neal stepped in shortly after, eyeing the orange-hued beverage with confusion as he dropped a crate onto the ground, “Can’t call this a celebration with _Seven Dwarves Ale_ ,” He said, immediately earning a cheer from Simon, reaching into the crate for a chilly bottle, “Compliments from the boss.”

“You’re aware they’re all underage, right?” Malcolm said, poking his head out from the kitchen.

Neal shrugged, sitting on his usual single couch and breaking open a beer with his switchblade, “We have responsible adults supervising this,” He shared a smirk with Malcolm, downing a foaming beer alongside Simon.

Thomas was the next one in, holding onto a six-pack of beer he pillaged from his parents. He narrowed his eyes, looking to Nicholas and Neal’s contribution to the party, “We really should have coordinated this. I’m sure Cory will be—” He turned, seeing a bottle of champagne in Cory’s hands as he stepped in, “Sensible.”

“I guess we’re just getting drunk tonight,” Simon said, taking the champagne from Cory, examining the label, “Oh. This is good stuff.”

 “Relax,” Malcolm shouted from the kitchen, “I ordered pizza. Got some beef skewers in the works too, if anyone’s interested,” He looked to his phone, seeing a text from Peter stating that they were just outside. He took off his apron, turning down the heat on the stove before stepping outside, seeing Rufio’s car with Peter, Rufio, and _Felix_ beside it. His heart warmed at the sight and he moved forward automatically, throwing his arms around Felix, holding him close, “Welcome _home_.”

Felix chuckled lightly, twitching when Malcolm agitated his still injured wrist, “Good to be back,” He flexed his other hand, testing his legs carefully. The casts were smaller, allowing him to walk with a cane. His legs were still tender, deterring him from any greater movement.

Peter offered him a hand to carry his weight, as he always did, “Come on. They’re waiting.”

“I barely know them. It doesn’t seem right,” Felix said, pulling away, “I feel like a fake.”

“They beat a man half to death for you,” Rufio said, “That builds friendships. Trust me,” He reached out, holding his shoulder, “Trust them. Just like they trust you.”

Felix paused when his phone buzzed. He picked it up, seeing Michael Darling’s name on the display. The text was simple but it meant a lot: _You did good. Take care of yourself._ Felix peered into the window, seeing Neal looking to him, waving what seemed to be a goodbye. Neal didn’t need to be here anymore, watching him, protecting him from himself and so much more. Felix tapped a quick response, thanking Michael for everything before putting his phone away, filled with courage.

“Okay,” Felix said, eyes firm, hands still as Peter snickered beside him, “What is it?”

Peter rubbed at his eye, putting his phone away, “Nothing. Just a message from Michael about his sister,” He looked to Felix, offering his hand once more and pleased when he took it. Rufio was already at the door, opening it for them, “Let’s go.”

The cheer was loud. Even though it was to celebrate Felix’s release from the hospital, they knew this celebration was so much more. It was the official crowning of the _Lost Boys_ , a very real group of friends, something Felix never had before and if he were honest, something _Peter_ never had either. The pizza, the party, the drunk shenanigans, that was simply icing on top.

Neal was the first to slip out, disappearing like a shadow, leaving behind a note on the fridge to call him if the worst was to happen. Cory was out second, dozed off on the couch, toppling onto Simon who prompted merciless teasing from the rest of the Lost Boys. Malcolm had broken off as well, drinking himself into a stupor and collapsing onto Neal’s usual spot, snoring loudly while the boys chatted around them.

Peter and Felix had broken off a while ago as well, shortly after Neal left. Careful not to agitate Felix’s body, Peter kept his weight hovered just above him, pressing kisses along his cheeks, his forehead, tracing the scar his father left behind so long ago. Felix was less careful, scraping at Peter’s skin with his good hand, desperate to mark him, _to have him_ , despite the exhaustion in his body. Peter rolled under him, letting Felix’s weight press him into the mattress, his legs slipping between Peter’s, grinding closely, intimately, as Felix’s lips opened Peter’s mouth naturally, his tongue tangling with his.

Peter glided his hands lightly over Felix, memorizing every curve, hoping to find his muscle and bulk return to him after this ordeal. He settled his hands on his jaw, hanging onto it as he deepened their kiss, so desperate to go further but restraining himself for Felix’s sake.

With everything behind them, a future for them to face together, Peter said it first after so long of silence, “I love you,” He weaved his fingers through Felix’s hair, feeling a jagged scar hidden under a flop of blond curls, “I love you so much.”

Felix collapsed onto him, hugging him tightly, eyes slipping shut, laughing as hard as he could, high from the beer floating around in his system and the sheer height of this moment.

The night came to an end. The boys had all fallen asleep in the living room, splayed across several couches and the floor. Malcolm had laid out sleeping bags before, fully expecting this to happen. Neal was long gone, returned home after calling his boss. Felix fell asleep after Peter returned to his room, laying on his back, injured arm sitting on a plateau of pillows. It was easy to doze off without any fear of nightmares knowing that Peter was so close.

The door to his room clicked. The gentle sound was enough to rouse Felix, the boy’s eyes blinking open, “What’s up?” He mumbled, feeling a hand glide up his good arm, a second hand on his chest, rubbing soothing circles. He smiled absently, “Is something wrong?” He felt a warm breath misting against his lips, the scratch of scruff against his chin.

“No,” Malcolm whispered, pressing forward, hand gliding up to hold his face as he kissed him.

Felix’s body stiffened at first before the buzz of alcohol settled his nerves, soothed him just as much as Malcolm’s touch always did, “W-What are you…” His breath hitched when Malcolm climbed over him, cradling him before closing in again.

Malcolm shushed him, thumb gentle over his lips, dragging lightly down his bottom lip before taking his chin and kissing him again, firmer but still gentle. His hands glided down Felix’s body, making the boy shiver and writhe, pleasing him in ways he wished he could’ve done sooner. Hand grasping into the loose shirt on Malcolm’s back, crooning lightly when Malcolm gripped at his hair, in his half-minded, drunken state, Felix shut his eyes and kissed back, beckoning him closer, encouraging him.

In his current state, high on life and alit with lust, he was in no state of mind to consider the terrible betrayal he had committed.

 


	3. Irreversible Sin

**Saturday March 27 th, 2010**

It seemed almost like a dream. Felix awoke in bed with the feeling of scruff tickling his neck, of rough hands and coarse lips gliding over him, searching his body in ways only _Peter_ could. His breath hitched at the thought of Peter, his good hand fisting in the blanket. It was a betrayal of his trust, doubly so when it involved his father. This was something he couldn’t let happen again. He ran a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes tight, letting out a slow breath. He wanted to doze back off, but he had his morning shift at the convenience store, something he specifically drank less for.

As he expected, everyone was still dead asleep. The rest of the boys were still in the living room, draped over miscellaneous furniture. Peter was still in bed, mumbling and sweet when Felix knelt and kissed him on the forehead. He made his way down the stairs, freezing mid-step when he spotted Malcolm stepping out of the kitchen, his usual apron on, smiling.

“Morning,” Malcolm said, putting the spatula down, “I’ve got pancakes going for everyone. Sit down. You can get the first batch before you leave for work.”

Felix furrowed his brow, confused, as he sat at the dinner table. Malcolm served him pancakes, handed him syrup, and Felix ate. His eyes were glued on Malcolm the entire time, trying to see just the slightest change in his behaviour caused by last night.

“If you’re not well,” Malcolm said, sitting on the desk, sipping a fresh cup of coffee, “I can call the store. Tell them you still need time to recover.”

Felix pulled his eyes away, realizing that he was staring. He cut his pancakes hastily, anything to distract himself from the feel of scruff around his lips, “I’m fine. I didn’t drink that much last night.”

“Ah,” Malcolm hummed out, lowering the cup.

“How about you?” Felix said, uncomfortable as Malcolm continued to stare at him like he was a baby rabbit sitting at his table, “You drank quite a bit.”

“Neal brought some good stuff in. I couldn’t help my self,” Malcolm said, voice low as he chuckled, “I’ll be fine. Just need some coffee. My shift is at noon. I should be sobered up by then. Unless you want to take my shift for me.”

Felix snickered, dipping a piece of pancake into syrup before putting it in his mouth, “Do I get to take the money too?”

“If you want to pay for hydro, sure,” Malcolm said, dipping his finger into Felix’s syrup before bringing it back to his lips, “Our shifts are going to overlap at lunch time. You want to go out for lunch? My treat.”

Felix had gone to lunch with Malcolm all the time but after if last night really happened, this took on a whole different connotation. Feeling that he’d be ungrateful otherwise, Felix reluctantly answered, “Sure,” Felix replied, smiling, finishing his pancake and standing up slowly, grabbing his cane, “I should get to the store.”

“You’ve got some time,” Malcolm said, following him up despite his words.

“I’ll be going slowly. Cane and all,” Felix said, gesturing to the instrument.

Slowly, Felix shuffled his way to the door. Malcolm was at his side immediately, giving him a pillar to lean on. _Malcolm’s hands_ , despite getting a helping hand from him all the time, only now did Felix realize the callouses on his fingers, his palms, the wispy hair along the back of it. He swallowed, unable to stop himself from feeling those hands all over him as they were last night.

“I can walk you over if you want,” Malcolm said, squeezing Felix’s hand lightly.

Felix released Malcolm’s hand, hanging onto his cane tightly, “I got this.”

“Alright,” Malcolm said, lifting his hands, backing off after opening the door for Felix, “I’ll get out of your way, tough guy,” He smiled, twiddling his fingers as Felix stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

 

Yawning lazily, Peter stumbled his way down the stairs, eyeing Rufio and Nicholas at the table snacking away on pancakes. Nicholas quickly waved him over, bubbly and awake despite drinking the most next to Simon.

“Peter! These pancakes are amazing,” He said, drenching them in maple syrup before shoveling them down his throat.

Peter chuckled, amused as he dropped himself into the closest free chair, picking up a pancake with his hands and snacking on it like a cookie, “Where’s everyone else?”

“Cory and Simon left already. They got a little embarrassed when they woke up tangled with each other,” Rufio was already snickering before he finished his sentence, nudging Nicholas, “Thomas left earlier. He had to get to his part-time job.”

“More pancakes for us then!” Nicholas declared, waving happily as Malcolm stepped out from the kitchen and joined them at the table, “Thank you, Mr. Pan.”

Malcolm quirked a brow, “Uh, Banning but, anyway, call me Malcolm. Mr. Banning makes me feel old,” He had another mug of coffee with him, anything to help muffle the hangover, “Felix left for his shift at the store too.”

“I know. I felt him kiss my forehead before he left,” Peter said, snickering lightly as he dipped his pancake into more maple syrup.

Malcolm smiled to his son, eyes narrowed, “How romantic,” He placed his mug down, clearing his throat, “Want me to cook you lunch before I head out for my shift?”

Peter shrugged, “Maybe. I could always eat cup noodle again.”

“Why not eat with Felix? Isn’t that convenience store just a couple blocks away?” Rufio suggested, pouring himself another glass of orange juice.

Malcolm blinked, smiling, “That sounds like a good idea.”

Peter hummed, smiling, “Yeah. I bet he’d like that. He likes Granny’s, right?”

“I love Granny’s. I can’t wait!” Nicholas exclaimed, immediately earning a death glare from Peter and a nudge to the arm by Rufio, “I mean. Granny’s sucks. Have fun going with Felix.”

Rufio took a sip of orange juice, stretching lightly, “And here I thought we’d get to mess with you like we do to Simon. That’s a shame.”

Peter’s brow quirked as he stood, sweeping back his hair, “Lumping me together with _Simon_? Oh please,” He snickered as he backed off, reaching into the laundry basket on his way up the stairs for fresh clothes, “You can have my share,” He declared, Nicholas immediately snatching away the pancakes on his plate, as he dashed up the stairs and into the bathroom for a shower.

While Peter showered, Rufio and Nicholas wrapped up their breakfast and made their way home. Nicholas hummed thoughtfully, hanging his head back, “Was it just me or is Peter’s dad kinda scary?”

“Mr. Banning? Scary?” Rufio said, “Why’d you think that?”

Nicholas shrugged, “He seemed really angry.”

“Probably just hung over,” Rufio replied, dismissing him.

 

It was difficult to concentrate. Felix had to redo several transactions, punching in the wrong number with one hand and immediately having to undo it. He wanted to blame the injury, but he knew that wasn’t it. After everything, all Felix wanted was for things to settle down, to live a normal life away from his family’s influence. _Malcolm’s touch, Malcolm’s kiss_ , threw everything into disarray. _If only he didn’t—_

No, Felix couldn’t blame him. He could have said no, could have resisted. Malcolm would have stopped; Felix knew he would, but Felix said _nothing_. Felix encouraged him, kissing back. He sighed, dropping his head into his good hand and scraping at his scalp. Saying no was something Felix was never good at.

Malcolm hadn’t mentioned anything about it in the morning, but Felix knew it was on his mind, could see it in his eyes, hooded and dark every time he looked to him. _He was waiting for Felix_ , waiting on a confession that would never come.

The door opened suddenly, startling him. Felix looked up, lips dropping open at the sight of his mother, “W-What…” He shut his eyes, calming himself, realizing that there was nothing his mother could do to him now, nothing that would be worse than what he was put through, “Welcome,” He said through his teeth, almost venomous.

Marilyn said nothing, whipping away, angered by the lack of quivering. She grabbed a couple snacks from the shelves, a six-pack of sprite, and a fashion magazine, throwing them onto the counter and folding her arms, refusing to look at her son. Despite her arrogance, despite their history, she was the one averting her eyes now, afraid, knowing what her son held over her.

Felix said nothing. There was no conversation to be had. He placed the items into a plastic bag and handed it to her, watching her leave in a huff as if she was in a rush, not looking back. It didn’t bother Felix. He had no intention of looking back either.

His phone beeped suddenly, shaking Felix from his thoughts. He took his phone from his pocket, smiling at the photo Peter had taken from the shower, shirtless, hair soaked, and brow quirked ridiculously. He held the phone to his chest, finding peace from Peter.

_Wanna eat lunch at Grannys?_

Felix paused, remembering that Malcolm had suggested the same thing to him.

_Sure._ Felix tapped back, smiling absently, adding: _I missed you._

Peter didn’t respond right away. Felix wondered if he accidentally overstepped until his phone beeped again, a misty picture of Peter _naked_ in the mirror sent to him. Felix gasped, slapping his phone off the counter when a customer walked by, completely red-faced and undone, “That jerk,” He muttered under his breath, retrieving his phone after the customer left.

Felix watched the clock above the door, feeling like he was back in the classroom, desperate for the lecture to end so he could run off into a corner of the school. Felix could almost laugh at how this was pretty much the exact opposite of his current situation. He wasn’t waiting to run away and hide alone; he was waiting to be with the person he loved.

Peter stepped into the convenience store, kicking the door open wide, head tilted back with a wide, delectable grin. His stormy eyes were alit when he eyed Felix, walking over with such swagger, green shirt somehow more vibrant on his body. And right behind Peter, _Malcolm stepped in_ , auburn shirt and natural colour palette making him blend in behind Peter.

Peter wiggled a finger, beckoning Felix over, leaning in for a kiss. Felix obeyed, leaning over the counter, lips almost touch Peter’s before Malcolm cleared his throat loudly, grabbing his son in a headlock and dragging him back, “Ah, ah, you’re distracting Felix.”

Peter sputtered, folding his arms and pouting, “He’s going on his lunch break, right?” Felix nodded, agreeing with Peter, “So I’m not distracting him,” He reached out, fingers spread, beckoning Felix to join their hands. Reaching up with his good hand, Felix’s intertwined their fingers together, hanging onto him tightly.

“I guess we’ll go to lunch then?” Felix said, letting go of Peter’s hand to grab the ‘Back in 1 hour’ sign under the counter. He blew the dust off it, looking up, finding Malcolm leaning over the counter, close enough to breath in the scent of his hair. Felix froze where he was, unsure how to react.

“Ah! There it is,” Malcolm said, reaching over the other side of the counter, feet nearly swinging into the air as he retrieved a bundle of papers from under the cash register, “There’s a coupon at Granny’s here,” He said, giggling when he pulled it out at first try, “Here we are.”

“Buy two main courses, get one free lasagna,” Peter said, folding his arms, “I guess that means you’re joining us.”

“Was there ever another option?” Malcolm said, looking to Felix, still leaning over the counter, _still close_ , “I haven’t eaten out with Felix for a while either. There’s so much to catch up on.”

Peter seemed unperturbed by his father joining them, likewise with Malcolm. If this was all in Felix’s head, it was certainly the most vivid hallucination he’d ever had. Perhaps there was something in that pumpkin-flavoured ale. Perhaps he simply imagined Malcolm in his room. With the way how everything was so utterly normal in their interactions, Felix could never be sure.

It was Peter that sat beside him at the diner. Malcolm sitting across from him, twiddling his thumbs waiting for the menus, talking about utterly innocuous topics while Felix nodded along, humming responses, his usual withdrawn self.

“You know, I wanted to eat lunch with Felix alone,” Peter grumbled, face leaning on his hands, staring at Malcolm with faux offense, “It was supposed to be a lunch date.”

Malcolm wrinkled his nose at his son, “You know what? _So did I_ ,” He said, snickering while Felix’s paled, “I thought I’d take Felix out to a nicer restaurant for lunch than _Granny’s._ Get him a nice steak for protein,” His breath hitched when Ruby walked by and glared at him, “Not that there’s anything wrong with Granny’s. _There are just so many better restaurants_ ,” He mumbled out, hiding it behind a cough.

Felix flinched, cringing slightly when Peter’s hand suddenly smacked against Felix’s thigh, testing it for plumpness, groping him in public while he had a toothy smile on his face, “My dad is bullying me. He’s mocking me for not having a job and living off allowance,” He cooed, snuggling Felix, watching his father with glee, “Who’d you prefer to have a lunch date with?”

“P-Peter, obviously,” Felix choked out, biting down a laugh when Peter latched onto him playfully, groping him under his sweater, taking full advantage of his one broken arm restricting his ability to resist. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Malcolm, straight-faced and still, _unlike_ Malcolm’s usually bubbly self, “But, the steak sounds nice.”

Malcolm’s lips twisted into a toothy grin, calming Felix, “Thank you,” Eyes sliding to the left, catching Ruby as he called her over to fill in their order.

 

The rest of the day after lunch was dreadfully uneventful. Felix went home with Peter, returned to his room to work on homework assignments. Malcolm remained at the convenience store. Felix was stuck on a question in his assignment but not at all from the difficulty. He couldn’t concentrate, constantly thinking back to the bed behind him, where Malcolm came to him in the middle of the night¸ _like Peter Pan flying in through the window_ , whisking him away like a dream.

_Shit…_ was he really that type of person? One that loved so flippantly? Years of being deprived from affection warped him, made him desperate for love, desperate for physical comfort, and now two people were giving it to him, overwhelming him. He dropped his pencil, slumping over his desk and groaning.

“Is something wrong?” Peter asked, stepping in, startling Felix into leaping to his feet and immediately collapsing back into the chair, remembering the state of his legs. Peter snickered at the half-leap, “Careful. You don’t want to end up in a wheelchair.”

“Ah, right,” Felix said, turning away, hands on his lap as he stared at his assignment, “Just, been a while since I’ve done homework. Didn’t think they’d give you stuff for me to work on.”

Peter shrugged, standing behind Felix, “Guess they just want you caught up as soon as possible,” He squeezed at Felix’s shoulders, smirking when the boy stiffened under his touch. He rolled his thumbs once, watching Felix writhe just a little, a moan in his throat, “Take a break. It’ll come back to you.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to help,” Felix said, fingers flexing suddenly, humming lightly as Peter’s fingers pressed into his back, finding knots and kneading them loose, “That’s not helping me concentrate.”

Peter smiled, leaning in, rolling his thumbs again closer to Felix’s spine. He gasped, biting his lip, straightening his back, “I never said it would,” His arms circled around Felix’s chest, pinching at his nipples through his skin. Felix yanked away, gasping as hands glided down his torso, laying folded in his lap, “Neal’s gone and my dad’s out. You know what that means?”

“Means I can get some work done,” Felix responded, leaning his head back onto Peter’s shoulder, face stretched into an impossibly wide smile.

“We could get a lot of _work_ done,” Peter whispered, towering over Felix’s, lips touching as he spoke, matching Felix’s smile. His face softened, slowly, coaxing Felix into serenity, “I’m glad you’re here, Felix,” _I’m happy that you’re alive._

Felix lapped at his lips, daring to claim a proper kiss from Peter, “I’ll always be here. Until you’re sick of me.”

Peter’s hand stiffened suddenly, pressing down in Felix’s lap, making the boy flinch and gasp, bumping their noses. Peter’s brow quirked, the softness disappearing, replaced with all the sharp edges he was known for, “Keep me interested then.”

Hooking his arms around Felix’s torso, Peter dragged him backwards out of the chair, carrying most of his weight as he threw them both backwards onto the bed. He scuttled over him quickly though, pinning Felix to the bed. He snickered lightly, removing Felix’s shirt, carefully guiding the shirt over his arm cast. Creeping down his legs, Peter eagerly removed Felix’s pants, rolling them down slowly, nails scraping against the skin.

Felix snickered at the ticklish sensation, propping himself up on his good arm to watch Peter, “Not fair. You’re still fully dressed,” He lifted his foot, allowing Peter to take off his socks leaving him in just his shorts. He crooned when Peter’s slid his hand up his leg, feeling the wispy hairs on his thighs before cupping the swell of his ass. Felix stiffened at the touch, blushing to his ears at the sight of Peter licking his lips between his legs.

Enticed by the meekness of Felix’s face, Peter rolled his own shirt off, yanking it to the side and tossing it to the floor. He noticed an apprehension on Felix’s face, eyes glued to Peter’s body in a confusing mixture of lust and shame. His hand moved up on its own, stroking Peter’s chest before dragging down, feeling the curve of every muscle, smooth and strong, tracing the trail of hair that led down his pants.

“Felix?” Peter said, softening again, “Is something wrong?”

Peter’s hands were on him again, mapping out every _scar_ , every bit of uneven skin, ribs poking out from a frail, battered body. Staring at him with a face crooked from a scar, hollow cheeks, clouded eyes, Felix felt like running away and hiding himself in the deepest hole he could find.

Peter wouldn’t let him though, bending down, propping himself over Felix’s body gently, holding his face and forcing their eyes to meet. The hue of Peter’s eyes was so beautiful to look at, so brilliant, like staring at the world through a crystal, “P-Peter,” Felix choked out, fingers overlapping one of the hands on his face, stroking it, “Keep me, until you’re sick of me.”

“I promise,” Peter replied, forcing Felix to look at nothing but his face, to memorize every part of it instead of memorizing his own body, mapping all the pain he suffered. He crushed their lips together, distracting Felix as he undid his jeans, tossing onto the bed along with his boxer briefs, insistently grinding his cock against Felix’s leg.

The heat made Felix shudder, eyes flickering down to Peter’s crotch as blood flooded his cheeks. Despite stripping first, it was Peter who ended up naked, propped up on his body, shamelessly grinding his cock hard against his leg. Felix crooned, tossing his head back as Peter stuffed a hand into his shorts. While he jerked him off, Peter reached back into his pants, taking out a foil square and a small packet of lube. Felix’s eyes widened at the sight, darkness filling them as Peter returned the look.

“I came prepared,” Peter said, kicking his pants off the bed, “You want top, or bottom?”

Felix was so used to submitting, he felt forced by his inner self to spit out, “ _Bottom_ ,” He shuddered as Peter took his ankles and spread his legs, careful not to strain any aching bones. His hand was on Peter’s shoulder, clutching him close, nervously. The hand was clammy as it touched Peter’s skin but he didn’t mind, busy groping Felix to attention.

Peter’s eyes flickered down as he peeled away Felix’s shorts, letting his erection _spring_ out. He gave a tiny laugh, lips pulled into a beautiful smile as he devoured Felix with a look, brow quirked, utterly mischievous, “Would you look at that?”

Felix knew he was babbling, unable to formulate words so he simply covered his mouth with his cast, biting down on it when he felt Peter probe at his opening with his fingers, playing with the cleft of his ass as he opened the packet of lube with his teeth, squirting it over his fingers, smearing it around Felix’s opening, rubbing at the ring of muscle until it twitched. Peter groaned at the feel, chuckling low.

The foil wrapped of the condom was all Felix caught over the pounding in his ears. He hadn’t realized that he had clenched his eyes shut, overstimulated and overwhelmed. He was desperate to shut out unnecessary stimuli, making it easier for Peter whisk him away with his ministrations.

“P-Peter?” Felix whispered, lifting his hips when Peter prodded at him with his cock. He gasped, breath hitching when Peter inserted a second finger. It was so tight, painful and pleasurable, Felix didn’t know how Peter would ever fit, “ _Why_?” He sighed out the question, almost amused by the puzzled expression the boy took.

The look didn’t last. Peter leaned in again, smiling into Felix’s face, so sure of himself and his answer as he slid himself into Felix, hand interlaced with his, “Because you’re mine,” He said, sighing out his answer, “Because you’re beautiful to look at,” He lay himself onto Felix’s body, weight crushing him into the bed pleasantly, hips snapping upwards slowly while Felix’s cock was crushed between them.

The thoughts of self-hate, the sting in the back of his mind, shattered with every thrust Peter took. The weight of his body against him, the insistent grinding inside of him, the building heat and pleasure, that was all Felix cared about right now. Nothing in the world was ever this important. He wished his health was better, wanted to wrap his legs around Peter’s body and clutch him close, never letting him go.

Felix threw his head back, fighting his orgasm, cock pounding and overstimulated between their bodies. Peter wasn’t ready yet. Despite the insistence of the heat, the build of pleasure without climax becoming unbearable, Felix held back, staring into Peter’s eyes, pleading with him, begging for release. Peter wanted to smirk but found himself breathless, only managing a whine as he lowered his face into Felix’s shoulder, hips snapping up erratically as he came, crooning when he felt Felix tighten around him, sticky come splashing between them.

Peter chuckled, low, dark, as he caught his breath in long puffs. Felix’s chest was pumping beneath him, equally exhausted and desperate to catch up. Peter rolled his head forward speaking into Felix’s neck, “You made a mess of the bed.”

Felix let out a shallow laugh, his cast now resting over his eyes as he whined, “Whose fault is that?” His breath hitched when Peter shifted, pulling himself out slowly with an obscene pop that made Felix flush red. He kept his head turned when Peter removed the condom, knotting it before smearing Felix’s come over his stomach, “S-Stop that. I’ll clean it up,” His mind imploded at the sight: Peter bringing his come stained fingers to his lips and lapping it up. Felix’s mouth dropped open, expression stupid, while Peter stared at him with a serpent’s smile, “Oh…Oh, shit…”

“Second round already?” Peter said, licking his lips slowly, loving how Felix’s eyes followed his tongue. He squeezed at Felix’s flaccid cock, “Didn’t think so,” His chuckle was low, in his throat, and utterly effective against Felix. He swung his legs over the bed, walking out naked towards the bathroom, “Coming, Felix?”

Groaning, Felix followed closely, hands shaking on his cane as he hobbled his way over.

After cleaning up, Felix and Peter lay in bed for hours, Peter comfortable against Felix’s chest, drawing circles along his torso, “What do you think of the boys?” Peter asked, finger playing with Felix’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed from a swallow.

“The boys, I like the way that sounds,” Felix said, smiling lazily, “They’re fun. I wish I spent a bit more time with them. I’m grateful to them forever.”

“I’ve never had friends like that,” Peter said, slowing the stroke of his fingers.

“That’s not true. I remember seeing you at school. You always looked so happy,” Felix faded, the arm wrapped around Peter’s torso tightening, “I was always so jealous. I wanted to be just like you.”

Peter shook his head, hand reaching out to take Felix’s injured hand, petting the back of it lightly, “It wasn’t real. The moment I left high school, everyone stopped talking to me,” He could barely remember now. He remembered keeping in touch with Simon and Cory but remembered little else, never realized Simon’s obvious crush on Cory, never realized that the two moved in together until now. He couldn’t even remember Nicholas or Thomas even though Rufio confirmed they were there since the start, “I was never a real friend to them. That’s why.”

“When you left high school?” Felix said, puzzled, crooking his head to stare at Peter.

Immediately, Peter sputtered, “I meant, when I leave high school,” He chuckled lightly, patting at Felix’s hair playfully, “Like, if all of this never happened. I wouldn’t have any friends.”

“Neither would I,” Felix added, voice soft, choosing to dismiss Peter’s odd phrasing, “I would’ve never made any friends with you.”

“What about Michael?” Peter said, “He’s done a lot for you.”

Felix shrugged, fingers playing with Peter’s hair, “He helped me out. I’ll always be grateful for that,” _Helped him out. Stopped him from killing himself_ , “He’s not a friend like you or Rufio. He’s different,” A silly look flashed on Felix’s face, “More like a guardian angel.”

Guardian Angel Michael Darling, Peter and Malcolm’s _murderer in the future_. Peter’s nails dug into Felix’s cast briefly. With Neal forging bonds between them, Peter wondered if he had avoided his gruesome fate in the future. Peter tucked himself deeper into Felix, forcing himself to hide the terror that came with that memory.

“Is something wrong?” Felix whispered, feeling Peter tucking himself into his embrace.

“No. Just tired,” Peter said, head resting under Felix’s chin, chirping playfully, “We had quite a workout,” He smirked when he felt Felix’s skin heating up. Peter was pleased that his skill in bed from the future carried into his past, “Pretty good for my first time, right?”

Felix stuttered, turning his head so it no longer touched Peter’s head, “It-It was pretty good,” He slowed his breath, sighing deeply, “It was amazing. Perfect.”

Peter propped himself up on Felix’s chest with both arms, resting his chin on his knuckles over Felix’s chest, “You can thank me later for taking your virginity.”

“Of course,” Felix replied, humming as he straightened out Peter’s hair. His head tilted to the side, eyeing the clock, “Your dad has a late shift tonight, right? I’m a bit hungry.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully, nodding his head back and forth as he though, “You want to try cooking?” Felix blinked, puzzled, “Test out your skills with just me before you have to get judged by my dad,” He watched Felix swing his legs off the bed, sliding down carefully, reaching for his clothes, “Wait,” Peter called out, catching Felix’s good wrist before he grabbed his pants, “I’ve got a better idea.”

“This is _not_ a better idea!” Felix shouted, standing in the kitchen wearing _nothing but an apron_ with Peter fully dressed and snickering in the dining room, tapping away at his phone, “Stop taking pictures,” He said, blushing to his ears, hanging onto the counter to support his weight.

“I think this was an amazing idea,” Peter said, licking his lips whenever Felix turned around, ass emphasized by the loose piece of cloth flapping around him, “Dinner and a show!”

“This is barely a show,” Felix choked out, staring at the pot of pre-made spaghetti sauce with fresh ground beef and chopped onion heating up on the stove, “This is barely a dinner,” He grumbled out, thinking about the elaborate meals Malcolm would cook for them.

Smacking his backside, earning a whine, Peter snuck up behind Felix and hooked his arms around his narrow waist, supporting his weight for him, “That’s better than what I can do,” It was better than what he ended up doing when he moved out. He gave Felix a tentative pinch on the side, frowning, “We need to get you back to a healthy weight.”

“That’s why I threw that ground beef in there,” Felix said, yanking at the front of his apron when Peter purposely made it ride up, “Protein and all.”

“My dad wanted to use that to make burger patties,” Peter said.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?” Felix said, whipping around, taken aback when he realized Peter had his eyes glued to his backside the entire time, “Eyes up here, asshole.”

Peter’s lips stretched wide, eyes shining as he hummed playfully, grinding forward, “You looked like you knew what you were doing.”

The door opened before they could react. The blood drained from Felix’s face as Malcolm stepped in, stretching lazily, “My boss told me I could take the rest of the day off. Guess what that means?” He walked over to the closet, dropping off his hat, eyes gliding over Peter and Felix, “Burgers for dinn—” He paused, taking several steps back, _eyeing Felix_ with mortification and amusement, “…um.”

Felix broke off, trying to rush straight into the laundry room only to stumble without his cane, slipping onto the ground, baring more skin than he intended to Malcolm. Peter watched him, bubbly as Felix shut the door with an exasperated scream of Peter’s name.

Peter was unperturbed, staring at his father almost victoriously, “I told you I could get him in just an apron.”

Malcolm huffed, running his hand over his hair, hiding the flush in his cheeks, “You are incorrigible,” He reached out, patting Peter’s shoulder before breaking off for the kitchen, “But you wouldn’t be my son if you weren’t.”

As Peter expected, Felix refused to speak to him throughout dinner even when Peter quirked his brow, licking his lips, turning on all his seductive wiles across the table. Felix rolled his eyes, tugging at the old sweater he had tossed in the wash yesterday, twirling spaghetti onto his fork.

Malcolm smiled, bothered by the forced silence, “So, how was everyone’s day?”

“Good, got a lot of work done,” Peter said, propping his chin onto the back of his hand, “Felix too. We got _a lot_ done together.”

“Oh my god,” Malcolm said, flat, “You had sex.”

Felix flinched, blushing to his ears, immediately whipping on his hood when Peter burst into laughter. Peter dodged the hand from his father lightly slapping at his arm, “We got all our homework done. We were safe too. I took the condoms from your bathroom.”

Malcolm sputtered, “Get your own. I need those.”

“As if,” Peter replied, folding his arms, winking at his father.

Malcolm huffed in response, looking over to Felix with an exasperated eye roll, “I get no respect in this household. Except Felix, right?” He giggled reaching out, nudging at Felix’s wrist playfully. Malcolm looked puzzled when Felix didn’t respond, simply ducking his head, avoiding his gaze. Unfazed, Malcolm pulled away, returning to his meal, “Good job with the sauce, by the way. Even though I had to finish it.”

“You added spinach to it,” Peter said, sticking out his tongue.

“Don’t even pretend. You like spinach, just like how you like all _green_ things,” Malcolm said, tapping at the side of his head with the back of his fork, “I pay attention.”

Peter scoffed, “Ha! Felix isn’t _green_.”

 “Of course, he isn’t. He’s usually in my clothes,” Malcolm said, “My shirts, sweaters, aprons…”

Malcolm’s eyes drifted to Felix again, waiting longer than usual. Felix didn’t react, looking away again, only returning to his meal when Malcolm continued bantering with his son. Felix wanted to say Malcolm made him _uncomfortable_ , that his affection was unwanted, but it hurt to think that. After dinner, when he had returned to his homework, Felix couldn’t stop himself from looking to the door, waiting for Malcolm to come in and clear the air between them.

Malcolm never came. Instead, Peter was flopped onto his bed, flipping through pictures on his phone. Felix pretended to ignore him, pretended to work on his assignments, “I’m not talking to you.”

“Your call,” Peter said, purposely annoying Felix with his nonchalance. He swung his legs over the bed, looking over Felix’s shoulder at his math assignment, immediately pointing at one of the numbers, “That one’s wrong.”

Felix scoffed but relented, aware that Peter was the better academic overall, “How do I do it correctly?”

“Oh? We’re talking again?” Peter said, purring at the glare Felix shot his way, “I guess not then.”

Felix growled under his breath, turning his head, “Yes. We’re talking again.”

“In that case, you’ve got a mole on your inner thigh, the left one,” Peter started, brow raising when Felix’s hand came up, shutting his mouth for him. He pushed the hand away gently, “Fine, fine, let’s be boring and do math,” He caught Felix’s hand before it retracted, pulling it forward and kissing the back of it, smiling without ill intent.

Felix’s attempt at apprehension died at the gesture. His thoughts on Malcolm died as well. In this world, Felix knew there was no one in this world he would love more than Peter. This was why he didn’t understand why, late into the night, Felix was still awake, laying in bed, staring at the door. He was too anxious to sleep, waiting for the door to open again, waiting for Malcolm to come in and throw his world into disarray. _No one came in._ Felix wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

 

**Wednesday March 31 st, 2010**

It felt like a distant dream. Malcolm, sneaking into his room, humming and groaning as their lips were pressed together, scruff scraping at his chin. Felix woke up in bed, touching his mouth, unable to stop thinking about electric blue eyes peering at him through the darkness. Felix thought the feeling would fade with time, but it only got worse, gnawing at him at night with vivid imagery, making him ache. He covered his mouth with his good hand, feeling sick to his stomach when he thought about Peter, thought about the betrayal in his mind.

For the last few days, Peter was eager to dress Felix up in lewd, embarrassing outfits, giggling playfully throughout their game. Felix always relented, anything to make Peter laugh, but also always just before Malcolm would see him. The games, the costumes, no matter when they came home from school, they would always be right before Malcolm returned from his shift. The older man would laugh, stutter, flushed with embarrassment and amusement as Felix would berate Peter with all his hatred, but never did Felix see that lustful darkness from _that night._

Felix was always watching, looking for sparks and thunderclouds, but Malcolm kept it hidden away, kept hiding behind jovial expressions and coy smiles like nothing was brewing between them. Felix wanted a reaction. Felix needed to know what that night meant, needed to know how he felt for Malcolm as well.

It was why Felix kept “forgetting” his fresh clothes after a shower, why he decided stepping out in nothing but a towel was the best option, letting Peter and Malcolm gape at his mostly bared body. Peter loved every single moment; he probably thought Felix was doing this for him. If Peter knew the truth, that Felix was doing all of this just to coax a reaction from Malcolm, Peter would never forgive him. The fact that this train of thought was still clinging to him was making him sick.

_Actually--_ Felix gagged, leaping off his bed, grabbing his waist basket and throwing up last night’s dinner.

“I got you, I got you,” Peter said, holding Felix’s hair back while he vomited into the toilet, hands on either side of it, “Cory got sick too. Did you eat Nicholas’s muffins?” Felix nodded, groaning in regret, “First mistake,” Peter said, chuckling. Peter led Felix to his bed, laying him down on his side, passing him a cup of water to sip on, “Take the day off. I can get my dad to come home and make you lunch.”

Felix flinched at the thought, reaching up to take Peter’s phone, “N-No. It’s fine. I can make my own lunch.”

Peter quirked a brow, “What? Afraid my dad is going to be angry?” He gently pushed Felix away, sitting on the bed and texting, “My dad loves you. I’m sure he won’t.”

“L-Loves me?” Felix stuttered out, immediately snapping his mouth shut when he realized what he said, “Right. I’ve been living here so long, and he’s been looking out for me. That kind of love,” He halted his rambling when Peter reached out, feeling his forehead, “Peter?”

“Are you feeling okay?” Peter asked, testing for a fever.

Felix gently pushed his hand away, clearing his throat loudly, “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit nauseous,” He sighed involuntarily when Peter pressed his lips against his forehead. His lips were always so soft, so pleasant against his skin, “Mm. I guess you need to go now.”

“Some of us have to go to school, slacker,” Peter purred out, hand gliding down Felix’s side before standing up, “We’ll give Nicholas a talking to about his cooking,” He said, turning around and stepping out.

Felix heard the front door click open a while later, leaving Felix all alone at home. His stomach was still twisting but it was bearable now, enough for him to stand and walk around without feeling like he’d throw up and ruin the carpet. _He should take a shower_ , especially after the night before, twisting around in Peter’s sheets. He hummed thoughtfully to himself, still remembering Peter against his skin. _He should take a shower._ He curled suddenly, feeling a clench of pain in his gut, making him reel backwards into his bed.

Felix nearly dozed off until he heard his phone buzz. He picked it up, finding a ‘Sorry :(‘ from Nicholas. He smiled, amused but still aching, putting the phone back on his bed stand and shutting his eyes. In the back of his mind, he wondered when Malcolm would be home, _what he could do to provoke him into action_. Felix silenced the thought, punching the wall, sighing loudly before grabbing the pillow and throwing it over his head.

After a couple hours of napping with his head nestled under a pillow, Felix did exactly as he wanted to, taking a long, hot shower. The steam and sweet scent of soap was refreshing, helping him quell the gurgling in his stomach. He took a deep breath, letting the hot water cascade down his body and soothe his body. He squirted a dollop of shampoo into his hand, immediately catching the scent of Peter’s hair and smiling. Peter suggested they shower together but it had yet to happen. Despite Felix’s reluctance, Felix was honestly _eager_ to do so, just simply too anxious to admit to it. As he soaped his hair, Felix wondered how Peter’s fingers would feel through it, how he’d twist his snarls of blond hair into odd shapes for amusement.

_Peter. Peter. Peter. Malcolm…_ Felix kept his mind occupied, striking the tiled wall when he realized that the moment he stopped actively thinking about Peter, his mind immediately shifted to Malcolm. He clicked his tongue grabbing the tap and turning the water to hot, letting it barely scald him. When Felix was sure his mind was empty, he shut the tap, stepping out of the shower, taking a white towel from behind the door and drying himself off. He stopped when he looked to the counter, huffing when he realized he had left his fresh clothes outside. _Accidentally, really,_ Felix shook his head, tired of his own excuses.

Felix opened the door, towel wrapped around his waist, turning towards his bedroom and meeting Malcolm’s eyes, older man leaning against the wall, holding Felix’s fresh clothes in hand. He didn’t smile but he didn’t look upset either, “You forgot your clothes,” As Felix reached for his clothes, Malcolm promptly dropped them to the floor, Felix immediately eyeing him with confusion, “What made you think to shower right now, right before lunch?”

Felix swallowed, heat rising to his cheeks yet making no attempt to cover himself, “I-I thought I’d clean up before you got back.”

“And you just happened to forget your clothes again,” Malcolm said, eyeing him from head to toe, “You can’t honestly believe that I can’t tell what you’re doing,” He stepped forward, an arm’s reach away from Felix but already too close. Felix couldn’t move as Malcolm’s hand came forward, just barely out of reach over his body before settling on his towel, hooking two fingers into it, “I admit. I slipped that night and since then, I’ve held back because I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Felix didn’t even realize this was the confession he was waiting for all this time, unable to concentrate on anything but the slightest contact Malcolm was making with him, “But dressing like that, provoking me with my son, you can’t tease me like this and expect me to resist forever.”

_Teasing. Provoking._ Felix hadn’t realized how he became the aggressor. He didn’t fight when Malcolm yanked him over by his towel, didn’t tear away when their eyes were locked together, melting him.

“This is going to be a mess,” Malcolm said, eyes cold, lips pulled into a frown, “But I can’t live without it.”

The hands were searing hot on his cheeks, pressing against bare skin when Malcolm smashed their lips together. Felix hummed, weakly, hands twitching at his sides, trying to figure out if he wanted to fight back or hold him. Felix didn’t kiss back but Malcolm didn’t let go, still holding his face, lips moving and working his pliant. When Felix finally, _finally_ reacted, hand gliding up shakily to hold Malcolm’s hips, the older man lunged forward, backing Felix up into the bathroom wall and deepening the kiss, scouring his mouth with his tongue, memorizing the taste, the warmth, _the way Felix’s tongue wrestled his._

Malcolm was relentless, following his lips, desperate to taste them in every way he could. Felix barely had time to catch a breath, breaking away for a second before Malcolm’s tongue wrestled with his once more, like a punishment as if breaking for air was a sin. Malcolm’s hands had smoothed down his face, one resting on the back of his neck while the other slid down to the small of his back, hugging their bodies together.

In the worst time possible, Felix’s stomach began to twist. He broke off, shoving at Malcolm’s shoulders, expecting resistance but finding Malcolm cooperative. He kept his hands against Felix as he turned towards the toilet, hacking up air as nausea quickly muffled the pleasure.

Malcolm snickered lightly, rubbing at Felix’s back, “Was it that bad?”

“No, god no,” Felix choked out, wiping his mouth, cursing Nicholas under his breath, “It was—” Felix’s mouth snapped shut, realizing what he was doing. He turned, shoving at Malcolm but finding himself strengthless, hands splayed over on his chest harmlessly while Malcolm robbed him of his resistance with a smoldering look. Felix couldn’t understand why Malcolm was staring at him like that, staring at him like a long-time lover, decades of time spent longing and tender.

Malcolm’s hands were back on his face, thumb brushing gently over his scar, wishing he could erase it, “You can’t say you haven’t thought about this either.”

_“Do you have a crush on my dad?”_

It had flashed through his mind occasionally: Malcolm’s hands, Malcolm’s lips, beautiful blue eyes watching him writhe and squirm in pleasure. _Peter always trumped him though_ , his images more vivid, his touches more pleasing. Felix was shaking his head before he was aware, “I can’t do this to Peter.”

Malcolm knew what he was doing. His eyes shut immediately, pained at the name of his son, the one person he would give up the entire world to protect. Malcolm knew he would never forgive himself for doing this, never forgive himself for this awful betrayal. Malcolm smiled, sad, small, _guilty_ , “But I can’t live without this,” Since his wife, the one he threw away for Peter’s happiness, Malcolm had never fallen in love with anyone else. Malcolm deserved this kind of happiness; his son owed him this. Malcolm took Felix’s hands from his chest, lifting them away, answering Felix’s rejection, “It’ll be our little secret,” Malcolm said, pressing into Felix’s hair, breathing in deeply, “Let me have this,” His eyes were so soft, pleading Felix for mercy, begging for another kiss, “Please?”

Felix said nothing, didn’t push away, didn’t attack, and the silence answered Malcolm just as much as words would have. Malcolm pressed forward, kissing him again before whisking him off his feet and carrying him out of the bathroom. Felix had his fingers weaved through his flop of greying hair, kissing back, unperturbed when the towel loosened and fell off from around his waist.

Malcolm’s bed was large enough for them both, letting them stretch out comfortably. Malcolm lay Felix down carefully, kissing him fervently with the same passion as before, desperate to keep their lips together. Felix returned the passion, gripping into Malcolm’s scruff, nails scraping pleasantly against his cheek and trailing down his chest, playing with the collar of Malcolm’s shirt. The older man chuckled, low and seductive in his throat. Yanking at the back of the collar, Malcolm removed his shirt and tossed it aside, brow quirked with a dangerous smile as Felix’s eyes trailed down his body, eyeing his chest hair and his fleshier body, smiling lightly before Malcolm claimed his lips once more, holding him down on the bed, fitting their body together perfectly.

They didn’t speak throughout their affair, fumbling around on the bed but never going too far. Felix hadn’t given permission and Malcolm wasn’t going to push. When they were done, lips swollen, the taste of the other all over their tongues, Felix simply lay on his side with Malcolm behind him, massaging his shoulder absently.

Malcolm wanted to wait for Felix to speak but he could tell the boy would stay silent, too afraid, too anxious. He couldn’t blame him, knowing what he had gone through, “I’ve wanted you for a really long time,” Malcolm said, watching Felix roll onto his back to stare at him.

“I…” Felix started, shutting his mouth, trying to put the words together, “I don’t want to hurt Peter. I love Peter,” His eyes drifted away, “But I,” His mouth snapped shut again, staring at Malcolm, silver eyes speaking for him: _I love you too._

Malcolm touched Felix’s face, playing with a mole on his left cheek, smiling when Felix did the same to the mole on Malcolm’s right cheek. It was a betrayal Malcolm couldn’t live without, “A secret then?”

Felix’s fingers were fidgeting again, twisting against the blanket he was tucked under. He couldn’t resist Malcolm’s gaze, sky blue eyes scalding him. Felix looked away, hands unconsciously moving up to his face, nibbling nervously on the crook of his index finger. He didn’t want to hurt Peter. _He didn’t want to hurt Malcolm_. The contradictions were driving him mad.

“D-Don’t,” Felix said, fisting his good hand into the blanket to stop his fingers from shaking, “Don’t make me choose,” He gasped, Malcolm slumping over him, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

“Don’t choose,” Malcolm whispered, voice low, weak, “ _Don’t choose_ ,” Malcolm begged, clinging to Felix. Both knew the outcome if Felix were to choose. Between Peter or Malcolm, Felix would always pick _Peter_. Malcolm stared at him with half-lidded eyes, eyes like voids swallowing him, mesmerizing him, “I’ve never wanted anything from you, have I? _Except for this._ This is all I want.”

Felix was shaking his head, resisting every look Malcolm gave him, “I can’t do this to Peter.”

Felix shoved at him, but Malcolm caught his hand, intertwining their fingers, “I’m okay if we keep this a secret,” His lips dropped slowly, eyes flickering as they filled with sadness, soft and fragile, “Please let me have this.”

_Let him have this_. It was penance for depending on others, Felix’s payment for finding happiness.

 

**Thursday April 1 st, 2010**

“You want to go on a date?” Felix said, furrowing his brow, eating his sandwich absently, “This isn’t an April Fools thing, is it?”

“Of course not,” Peter said, swinging his legs on either side of the chair he was sitting on, “When have I ever tricked you?” Felix tilted his head back, humming thoughtfully before Peter waved his hand dismissively, “Whatever. Let’s just go on a date after school.”

“You already have something planned?” Felix asked, finishing his sandwich and wiping his lips with his good hand, “How long were you planning this?”

Peter sputtered, looking away, huffy, “It doesn’t matter. Do you want to go on the date or not?” He twitched when Felix closed in, kissing his cheek, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Always,” Felix added, tossing the sandwich wrapper into the trash, “Where are we going?”

Peter wrinkled his nose, leaning forward, “It’s a secret.”

This was intentional, Peter keeping his mouth shut making Felix ponder about this all day. He couldn’t concentrate on his classes at all, fingers thrumming against the desk impatiently as he watched the clock. When classes ended, Peter kept his mouth shut, guiding Felix all over the city after a train ride.

“That’d look nice on you,” Peter said, pointing to a striped sweater in the glass as they passed a clothing store.

Felix narrowed his eyes, “It has purple stripes and—" He was shaking his head at the gaudy design: Thick purple stripes over black with wings stenciled in white on the back. He looked away, meeting Peter’s puppy eyes and cringing, “No.”

“It would look so nice on you Felix. Like, so nice,” Peter said, forcing a pout, playing at being shy, “I wouldn’t be able to resist you if you wore that. It just brings out the colour of your eyes so much.”

Felix rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his black hooded sweater, “My eyes are grey. They don’t have colour.”

“If you really don’t want it, I guess you could keep wearing my father’s clothing,” Peter said, twiddling his fingers, faking a saddened moan, “I guess that just means you like my dad more than me.”

Felix’s breath hitched, face reddened again, “F-Fine! I’ll get the sweater,” He marched forward, huffing, until Peter caught his shoulder and pulled him back.

“It’s fine,” Peter said, holding up a black credit card, “Dad got this.”

After getting Felix into the store, he was quickly cajoled into picking up more clothes on Malcolm’s budget. Felix stepped out of the store, frowning, dressed up in the hooded sweater that started it all as well as a pair of mauve skinny jeans that Peter stated would ‘make his arse perfect’ and a pair of black fingerless gloves that Peter claimed would complete the look. Felix rolled his eyes, unable to believe he was convinced into this.

“I look stupid,” Felix grumbled, pulling the hood on and hiding under it.

“I think you look great,” Peter said, examining him from top to bottom, unable to quell his smile, “I feel like a necklace would really complete this look.”

“No.”

Peter raised a brow, “Really, Felix? You think I can’t persuade you to get a necklace?”

“I’m only getting persuaded because its you,” Felix said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and feeling the plush lining, “Only for you,” He took Peter’s hand, covering his wallet, “But no more of your dad’s money, okay?” He blinked when Peter reached into his own pocket, brow raising and teeth showing as he smiled and withdrew a metal chain from his pocket, “S-Seriously?”

“A long time,” Peter said, finally answering Felix’s question, “I’ve been planning this since you were in the hospital,” He lifted the necklace to Felix’s eyes, letting him see the charm at the bottom: A metal pan flute attached to a dagger, “Your little piece of Neverland,” The smile was involuntarily; watching Felix light up under his sour persona as worth every bit of effort.

Bowing his head, Felix allowed Peter to place the necklace around him, crowning the taller boy, initiating him into the Lost Boys. Despite Felix’s anger, both knew most of it was feigned, Felix playing up his sourness so Peter could break it down with crafty words and tricks. It didn’t make it any less endearing, any less interesting.

In green and purple, Peter guided Felix into the heart of downtown, both snacking on a hotdog with their free hands joined, Peter’s hand wrapped lightly around Felix’s cast. Felix stopped immediately when he spotted the destination, a brightly lit theatre covered in neon signs, cringing in embarrassment, “N-No way. Really?”

“Hey, the tickets weren’t cheap, even with Rufio’s help,” Peter said, puffing up, “Besides, I know how much you love that book.”

Felix was determined to despise _Peter Pan: The Musical_ just to spite Peter Banning, but the boy knew Felix too well, knew that this book was the world to him and seeing it alive in front of him was his childhood dream. Felix’s mother called them delusions, scolded him for being stupid, for believing in a magical boy that would whisk him away and cure all his problems. Even his harsh mother couldn’t wipe away the innocence Felix locked away in this story, _locked away in Neverland_.

“You ever wonder what its like to fly?” Felix mumbled during intermission, still staring at the stage as if something would pop out and amaze him.

“Sometimes,” Peter responded, legs crossed, hand gliding over Felix’s knuckles, smiling at the child like wonder in Felix’s eyes, “Want to go skydiving next date?”

Felix sputtered, looking back at Peter coyly, “As if we could afford that,” He lowered himself in his seat, yanking his hood up, “It sounds fun though,” His hood was yanked off suddenly, “Yes?”

“I want to see you,” Peter said, leaning his elbow on the arm rest and balancing his chin on his palm, staring straight at Felix with a lazy smile.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten me a sweater with a hood then,” Felix replied, voice dry. He winced when Peter’s hand slapped his thigh, nails digging into his new jeans. Felix hummed appreciatively, back arching at the sting.

Peter said nothing; he didn’t need to. Felix leaned forward automatically when Peter pressed close, catching his lips in a kiss, hands migrating to Felix’s cheek. Peter played with his hair, pushing his hood back completely, relishing Felix’s touch against his downy cheeks. Peter was smirking into the kiss, Felix snickering as they pressed their foreheads together, enjoying each other’s warmth. The lights dimmed, the show continued, but Peter and Felix remained joined together.

 

“It does look nice,” Felix mumbled, wearing his new hooded sweater over pajama pants and a thin beater, staring at himself in the tall mirror on the closet door. He grumbled, disgruntled at how snugly the sweater fit around him, made for a lanky body. Despite his complaints, the purple stripes really did look good on him, just as green looked perfect on Peter.

Felix slipped his hands into the pocket, enjoying the plush, faux white fur massaging his hands, matching the inside of his hood. He turned, arms outstretched, seeing the white wings stenciled on the back as if sprayed on with paint, fake drops and speckles along the edges, “T-Tacky,” He whispered out, yanking his hood on and turning towards the mirror, catching the blush on his cheeks.

_Damn_. He really liked how this sweater looked but it needed gloves to cover his knuckles, make his arms look less gangly. The gloves really did make the look, not that Felix would admit to Peter. Tossing the sweater and gloves onto the nearby chair, Felix turned out the lights and laid back in bed, _waiting._ His eyes drifted to the clock, watching the red numbers flicker to midnight, before sliding shut, but not sleeping.

In what felt like forever, _the door opened_. Felix kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep, rolling onto his side to face the door, laying his cast in front of his face. A chuckle could be heard but no one had touched Felix yet. He opened one eye, spying Malcolm by the window holding up Felix’s new sweater.

“The wings are cute,” Malcolm said, snickering as he draped the sweater back onto the chair. He reached out to something sparkling on the desk, picking up the necklace Peter had given him, “Did Peter get this for you?”

Felix sat up, letting the blanket slide off, “Yeah. He got it for me during our date.”

“Ah, the Peter Pan musical,” Malcolm said, putting the necklace down before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You knew?” Felix asked.

“Of course. My son tells me everything,” Malcolm said, hand creeping forward, stroking Felix’s thigh, “I’m glad you had fun. Wish I got to come too.”

“It would…be awkward,” Felix mumbled out, tearing away, “Peter’s a bit old for a chaperone, isn’t he?”

Malcolm tilted his head thoughtfully, pretending to think before gliding his hand up Felix’s torso, landing on his chest, “I can get you clothes. Replace your entire old wardrobe.”

Felix took his hand, holding it firmly against himself, “It’s fine. D-Don’t worry about it,” He looked away, unable to stare at Malcolm’s face without being overwhelmed by guilt. He clenched his hand tightly around Malcolm’s to prevent them from shaking, “Let’s get this done quickly, before Peter hears us.”

“Mm, let’s,” Malcolm whispered, crawling onto the bed, lowering Felix onto it before smothering him with kisses, hands groping him lightly, _desperately._

In Felix’s heart, Malcolm knew he’d never win so he took what little affection Felix was willing to give him. The kiss lasted little more than a couple minutes. Felix pulled away first, turning when Malcolm’s lips insistently probed forward. He lay back on his pillow, breath shallow with Malcolm propped over him. His eyes were shut, hiding whatever painful emotion he was feeling. Malcolm would never know nor did he want to, preferring to pretend that they were loving each other in better circumstances.

“Goodnight,” Malcolm whispered, kissing Felix’s forehead before breaking away, promising to remember the image of Felix’s beautifully basked in the streetlight forever.

 

**Saturday April 3 rd, 2010**

“Much, _much_ better,” Peter said, stretching his limbs as he tossed another log into the campfire.

“I don’t have to worry about getting frostbite anymore,” Felix said, snickering when Peter jabbed him in the arm. He rubbed at it absently, smiling lazily at the flickering campfire, “We could wait till summer, you know.”

Peter huffed, crossing his arms, “Nonsense. We go camping when we want to go camping. Besides, Thomas can only borrow his family RV when they’re not using it.”

Thomas, sitting across from the fire cutting up a roasted apple, snorted, “I feel used.”

“Nonsense! You’re enjoying yourself,” Nicholas said, reaching over the fire with tongs to take a sausage off the grate, immediately getting shoved into the dirt by Thomas who proceeded to stamp out the fire on his sleeve.

Felix rolled his eyes, playing with the sleeve of his sweater while Rufio, Cory, and Simon were setting up tents. Malcolm stepped out from the camper, carrying a platter of uncooked buffalo chicken wings for the fire. Felix smiled as he approached, standing to take the platter, “Those look good.”

“Its my personal recipe,” Malcolm said, snickering as he carefully placed them onto the grill over the campfire.

“Don’t like them,” Peter huffed, lower lip pulled out in a pout.

“Oh please, you’re still upset that I tagged along?” Malcolm said, “You wanted to invite Neal. He’s an adult, isn’t he?”

Peter sputtered, lifting his nose into the air, “Neal’s cool. Shame he’s out of town,” He eyed the chicken wings, huffing under his breath, “I can handle food just fine.”

“From what I remember, last time you went camping, all you ate were burnt hot dogs,” He promptly dropped a bottle of ketchup onto Peter’s lap, “You didn’t even bring any condiments.”

Peter sputtered, standing up to meet his father’s eyes, gaze fierce but playful underneath, “It was an urgent matter. I didn’t have time for something as trivial as condiments.”

“Well then, Felix!” Malcolm said, eyes jovial as he looked over to the lanky boy perched behind Peter’s shoulder, “Did you enjoy your burnt hot dogs or would you have preferred some real food?”

“Obviously burnt hot dogs,” Felix said, jovial and peaceful as Peter threw an arm backwards, wrapping around Felix’s head and yanking him forward affectionately. He nuzzled the side of Peter’s head, eyes closed but slowly sliding open, gazing at Malcolm who stared at him fondly, “But mustard would have been nice.”

It was no surprise that Peter spent the remainder of dinner huffing and whining beside Felix, staring at him with wide eyes engineered to maximize guilt. Felix could only laugh at the gestures, feeding Peter chicken wings and being his squeeze toy as penance.

“Get a room, please,” Simon said, tossing himself down on a lawn chair by the fire, “As for setting up all the tents, you’re welcome.”

“I helped!” Rufio said, looking up from the private burner and pot he was cooking pasta in, “I set up one. That’s a third of the work.”

“Ignore Simon,” Cory said, circling around the chair, hand gliding into Simon’s straight golden locks to mess them up before taking a bottle of beer from the nearby crate, “He just can’t drop his bravado, especially at night.”

Simon sputtered as he straightened out his hair, glaring at Nicholas and Tootles as they stared at him with the utmost amusement, “Sh-Shut up, Cory,” He reached forward, snatching the bottle from Cory’s hand before downing a quick gulp, “If you’re so sick of my bravado, you can go join Thomas, Rufio, and Nicholas in their tent.”

Cory looked to him, straight-faced and deceptively neutral, “I never said I was sick of your bravado,” The smile was calculated and utterly effective, “In fact, I kind of like it.”

The shade of crimson that Simon’s face took was only undermined by the booming laughter Thomas and Nicholas fell into, tumbling into the dirt and reveling in Simon’s embarrassment. Peter broke off his attempts at guilt tripping Felix, smirking wildly, “Get a room, please.”

Felix leaned in the moment that smirk appeared, lips behind Peter’s ears as he took a slow breath, “Am I forgiven?”

Locked with Peter’s gaze, eyes narrowed in a hypnotically seductive way, Felix felt a hand carding through his hair, mimicking Cory’s touch but getting caught in the snarls and tangles of Felix’s wildly wavy hair. Felix twitched at every tug, realizing that Peter was purposely finding all the snags and pulling them loose. Felix remained smiling, shutting his eyes, memorizing the feel of Peter’s hand in his hair.

The grip suddenly tightened. Felix’s neck snapped backwards, gasping before lips pressed against his own, drifting to his right cheek and smearing across his scar. Peter’s gaze was petulant, like a child king staring at his favourite toy. He released Felix, standing up and lazily circling around him, “I’ll be in my tent,” He said, winking at Felix and making his heart race.

Felix swallowed, absent smile ghosting his lips as he sighed Peter’s name out, standing and nearly skipping after him if not for his crippled leg. His steps faltered only when he accidentally stepped in uncooked macaroni. He stopped, following the lost piece to the bag sitting by Rufio’s private burner, _Malcolm crouched beside him_ as he helped him perfect his camping carbonara.

Malcolm’s gaze met Felix, his dialogue stopping, lips pressed together in discontent before stretching back into his usual smile, “Having fun?” He said, dimples in his cheeks before returning to his conversation with Rufio.

Felix said nothing, finding his throat dry once more forcing him to swallow before dashing after Peter.

 

Well into the night after Peter was done with his games, the boys had all gone to sleep with the fire low and crackling. Felix wasn’t sure why he woke up in the middle of the night without fatigue plaguing his mind. He blinked away the lingering dreariness, sitting up slowly as he untangled Peter from himself. He smiled pleasantly at how peacefully Peter slept, like a child on Christmas day. He pressed a kiss to his brow, tucking him into their sleeping bag carefully before shucking on a loose pair of track pants and crawling out of the tent. He hobbled over to the fire without his cane, seeing the figure sitting beside it and immediately gravitating towards him.

The older man was unreactive as if he expected this to happen, “Fancy seeing you out tonight,” Malcolm said, snickering quietly as he lifted the toasted marshmallow from the fire and set it carefully onto a graham cracker, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Felix rubbed at his forearms, cursing himself for stepping out in just a tank top and track pants, leaving his thick sweater in Peter’s grasp, “Yeah. Just a little,” Felix said, stepping into the light of the low fire and sitting beside Malcolm.

“Hm? What’s all that?” Malcolm asked, prodding at a black circle drawn in marker over the crook of Felix’s elbow and pointing to the matching one on the other arm crossing over the cast.

At the question, Felix immediately rolled his eyes, seeing Peter’s wickedly amused face as he scrawled over his body with a black marker, remarking with every stroke he made. _That’s even more sensitive than the last spot_. The heat in his cheeks was embarrassment, not arousal, Felix convinced himself.

“Stupid game Peter was playing,” Felix said, rubbing absently at the circle, “Wanted to circle all my ‘hot spots’.”

Malcolm sputtered with quiet laughter, heating up a piece of chocolate carefully by the fire, “Hot spots?” He hummed, tilting his head in thought before reaching over with his free hand and lifting Felix’s tank top, chuckling at the circles all over his torso. Felix struck his hand, yanking the tank top back down as he leapt to his feet and paced around the fire, distancing them, “Just curious,” Malcolm said, eyes hooded and voice low, seductive had Felix been receptive, “You sounded like you were having fun.”

“Fun?” Felix choked out, lost in the thought as he remembered Peter’s glee, hands searching his body, forcing out laughter, whining, squealing, any noised that pleased Peter. It was excruciating at the time but pleasant when looking back at it, “A little. I guess,” He took the s’more when it was offered to him, eating it happily while Malcolm prepared another one, “Sorry we dragged you out here.”

“Nonsense. Hanging around everyone makes me feel younger,” Malcolm said, picking out another toasted marshmallow from around the fire, “Before he hooked up with you, he would have never let me hang out with his friends. Doesn’t want dear old Dad embarrassing him.”

“Could you blame him? You’re a little embarrassing,” Felix said, peering up from his s’more and almost giddy when Malcolm stood from his chair and circled around the fire, towering over him before leaning in, hands on the armrests, trapping Felix.

“You’re really picking up all of Peter’s worst habits,” Malcolm said, snickering as he lowered himself, their noses touching, “You should spend more time with me. Pick up my good, embarrassing habits.”

Felix wrinkled his nose, perking up, “Peter won’t want to hang out with me if I do.”

“All the better,” Malcolm replied, humming playfully, scruff tickling Felix’s chin as he spoke, “More for me.”

They didn’t get any closer after that. The two backing off, finishing their s’mores as they talked about the rest of the boys, sharing gossip, being so comfortably normal despite all the contradiction. Malcolm returned to the RV to sleep while Felix retired to the tent, frightened when he saw Peter sitting up and watching him as he entered.

“Something wrong?” Peter said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Felix knelt on the ground, stripping off his pants as he slid back into the toasty warm sleeping bag they were sharing, “Nothing. Just had a snack,” He lay down, culling Peter into his arms, coaxing sleep to take him away before Peter asked more questions.

**Wednesday April 6 th, 2010**

_Miss you :( Don’t take night shifts._

Felix smirked at the text, deciding to take a break from restocking the fridges and snapping a photo of himself, sending it to Peter. He paused shortly after the image transferred, turning his phone over, realizing that this was where most of the money he made went to, _not his rent_. He was paying a paltry amount to live with Malcolm and Peter. He should get a higher paying job, pay proper rent, but what could he get at his age and with his skillset?

A ping from his phone distracted him. Felix turned the phone over, seeing a picture of Peter winking back at him. He chuckled lightly, pocketing the phone as he returned to restocking the shelves. If he responded to the text, Felix knew he’d waste all his hours at work.

A rattle at the front door startled Felix. He broke off from the fridge section, looking down the alleys and finding the place empty. He approached the windows, peering out at the pavement basked in flickering streetlights. He tested the lock once, relief washing over him when he confirmed it was still locked as he left it. The _clatter_ in the backroom killed that relief instantly.

“Who’s there?” Felix shouted, grip tightening on his cane, seeing the worst possible scenarios: Marilyn sick of her son’s autonomy; _Mikey back for revenge._ The backroom door opened; Felix nearly screamed, frozen in place despite his mind begging him to run out the door, forgetting his injuries.

The voice was familiar, calming, “It’s just me,” The accent unmistakable.

His heart immediately slowed, relief washing over him once more, “M-Malcolm.”

The older man stepped up, brow quirked in an utterly _Peter_ way with his hands up in supplication, keys hanging off his thumb, “I was just going to spook you a bit. You so rarely take a night shift,” He lowered his hands, approaching Felix, brows furrowing at the sweat beading on the side of Felix’s face, the humiliated look on his face, “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Malcolm reached for him but Felix tore away, gripping into his cast as he took several shaky steps backwards. He wouldn’t meet Malcolm’s eyes, too busy staring at the void his family had left in him. Malcolm said nothing as he approached, wrapping his arms around him, carrying his weight. No quips, no words, the two simply stood there till the tremors quelled and Felix was no longer soaking his sweater in cold sweat.

When Felix finally returned the embrace, Malcolm knew things were okay. He released Felix, patting his cheek playfully and watching the boy wrinkle his nose at him, “Done restocking already?”

Felix cleared his throat loudly, pushing the episode from his memory, “Yeah. Locked up the front too.”

“You’re done early. Good job,” Malcolm said, stretching lazily, “Ah, you should take more weekday night shifts. Things get finished a lot quicker.”

Felix snorted, leaning against the counter with his good arm, “Doesn’t really fit into my school schedule.”

 “I know. I know,” Malcolm said, tilting his head to the left as he eyed Felix, “You didn’t have to take an extra shift to cover for last weekend.”

“I should,” Felix said, absently plucking at a wrap on his cast, “I need to pay rent.”

Malcolm’s face softened at his words. It was almost unbearable to look at, “You don’t have to pay rent. That’s not relevant anymore.”

“ _I should_ ,” Felix repeated, adamant to his duty, “I don’t want to burden you,” He choked suddenly, “Or-Or Peter,” His words were the ultimate contradiction. What was Felix other than an emotional burden on both Peter and Malcolm? Preying on their feelings like a temptress, “Why are you here?” _Felix knew the answer_ , his mind already filled with lewd thoughts of skin against skin.

Malcolm ruffled his hair while he was distracted, his usual wide grin plastered on his face again, “I wanted to take you out somewhere,” He said, earning a confused look from Felix, “There’s a place I always go after a night shift. It’s comfortable, serves food and drink, and its not crowded on weekdays.”

“You know I can’t go into a bar, right?” Felix said, playing annoyed when Malcolm threw an arm around his shoulders.

“Of course, I’m not bringing you to a bar. That would be irresponsible of me,” Malcolm said, “There’s no age restriction at this place. Anyone’s free to come and go,” He took Felix’s shoulders, propping him up, “It’ll be fun. I promise! It’s my favourite place to go after a long day of work. Makes me feel so loved, you know?”

“L-Loved?” Felix choked out, “What kind of place is this?”

Malcolm snickered, pressing in playfully, “Only one way to find out.”

 

In hindsight, Felix really shouldn’t have been surprised, staring into the hot chocolate in his hands with a cat face drawn on the top in foam. He twitched when a black cat crept up his leg, curling up in his lap and dozing off immediately. Felix hummed in contemplation, unsure how he felt about this. He looked to Malcolm who remained on the carpeted floor, giggling as several cats crept all over him waiting for the treats in his hands.

“I didn’t even know there was a cat café in Storybrooke,” Felix said, absently stroking at the cat in his lap.

“It’s great, right?” Malcolm replied, eyes glued on the cats nuzzling his leg, “I adore cats. If Peter wasn’t allergic, I’d have two, maybe three!” He gasped when a rotund white cat pushed past the others, eagerly approaching Malcolm and staring him down with gorgeous blue eyes, “Selene, you’re better!” He shouted, dropping his treats and picking up the massive cat.

Felix rolled his eyes, sipping at his hot chocolate, trying to ignore the adorable image of Malcolm snuggling as many cats as he could. He took his phone from his pocket, a cat paw immediately coming up and curiously yanking at his wrist. He smiled, lowering the phone and stroking the black cat in his lap.

“You ever wanted a pet?” Malcolm said, rising from the cluster of cats to sit beside Felix on the couch, taking a slice of cat-shaped cake from the waitress. He wanted to speak but constantly got interrupted by ‘Selene’ creeping onto his lap with intent to snuggle on his chest.

Felix shrugged absently, watching the black cat on his lap climb off and chase after a kitten of matching colour, “Never really thought about it.”

“Could be something nice to try out,” Malcolm said, “Getting a kitten, raising it.”

“I’d have to get a dog, wouldn’t I?” Felix said, smiling, “Peter’s allergic to cats.”

Malcolm faltered for just a second, distracting himself with scratching Selene’s ears, “Ah. I guess so,” He took a forkful of cake into his mouth, immediately getting a swipe to his cheek by Selene when he stopped petting her, “Selene, please!”

“Did she scratch you?” Felix said, stroking the cat’s ears in place of Malcolm, feeling her purr under his fingers.

“She can’t. Whoever owned her before declawed her,” Malcolm said, taking her paws and pressing them lightly, “Poor girl. That’s a terrible thing to do to a cat. Or anyone, really,” Selene crooned at the touch, reaching up with both paws and pressing them against Malcolm’s beard, flexing them lightly. Malcolm giggled playfully, “You want to play with her?”

Felix obliged with a nod, patting his lap and yelping as the rotund cat carefully climbed onto his lap, “W-what the…she’s so heavy,” Felix choked out, propping her up with his cast as she lowered all her weight onto his lap.

“She likes you. That’s good,” Malcolm said, leaning back on the couch and snacking away on his slice of cake, “The owner once told me she had trouble connecting with other customers, probably anxiety from getting declawed and abandoned,” Malcolm said, reaching over to scratch Selene’s ears, “I was real patient with her though and it eventually paid off. She adores me.”

It was an amusing image, Malcolm coming in every night, coaxing a reclusive, grumpy cat out from under a couch, days passing as she warmed up to him and was ready for belly rubs and ear scratches. A hand glided up Felix’s neck making him shiver. Felix blinked, finding Malcolm’s fingers scratching behind his ears, playing with his snarls of golden hair, his thumb stroking his scar.

“How about you?” Malcolm asked, punctuating his statement with a hum as he propped his head up on one hand.

“I don’t—” Felix started, mouth snapping shut involuntarily, unable to say anymore knowing what it’d do to Malcolm. He looked away, pretending to be huffy to hide his insecurity. Selene climbed off him shortly after, finding her way back to Malcolm’s feet and wrapping herself around them. Malcolm appeared to be distracted with a kitten but Felix knew better, knew how deceptively perceptive Malcolm was.

Felix perked up, reaching out to Malcolm, only for him to catch his hand in mid-air, “We should go,” Malcolm said, “It’s getting late. Peter’s probably wondering where you are.”

The only thing Felix could do was nod, “Ah. Yeah.”

 

Felix was exhausted when he collapsed onto his bed but he couldn’t sleep. He felt like he let Malcolm down, felt like in that singular moment, Malcolm just wanted the slightest reassurance that Felix cared for him and Felix failed to follow through. The disappointment was driving him mad just as the guilt did. He clawed at the front of his shirt, wondering when love became so complex.

A weight flopped onto him. Felix hadn’t realized someone had snuck into his room. He gasped, tossing the blanket back in surprise, _Malcolm’s name on his lips_ , but finding himself face to face with green eyes on a youthful face.

“P-Peter?” Felix choked out, breath knocked out from him and Peter flopped onto him again, pinning him onto the bed with a tired expression, “What’s up?”

“Missed you,” Peter said, crooning as he curled up on his chest, “You didn’t come see me when you got home.”

“Sorry,” Felix said. If he came to Peter with Malcolm filling his thoughts, he would never forgive himself, “Just tired.”

He expected berating as Peter lifted himself up, lips opening to speak but suddenly reeling back and sneezing. Felix blinked, confused at first before he shuffled away from Peter, “I-I went to a cat café with your Dad.”

“Ah, that place,” Peter said, rubbing at his nose. He shut his eyes tight, pawing at them weakly as they watered, “Wish you told me that earlier.”

Felix stuttered as he got up, babbling nonsensically before shutting himself up and rushing to the bathroom, returning with allergy medication and a cup of water. He placed the pill in Peter’s hand, carefully guiding the glass of water to his lips and feeding to him slowly. Peter pushed him back gently by the shoulder after taking the medication, breathing deeply and slowly.

“Shit, do you need anymore medication? M-More water?” Felix stood, _shaking_ , before Peter stopped him, grabbing onto his wrist and yanking him back.

“It’s fine. I’m not fatally allergic or anything,” Peter said, guiding Felix back onto the bed, “So that’s why you were so late.”

Hands kneading at his shirt, Felix looked like he committed a crime and Peter was his judge, “Sorry. He really wanted to go and I didn’t want to say no,” He flinched when Peter moved to speak, already hearing the scolding in his head, “I’m sorry.”

Peter chuckled, brow raised, waiting for Felix to open his eyes, “There’s no reason to be scared. Its not like I’m going to attack you or anything. You can spend time with my Dad if you want,” He drew a circle on Felix’s knee, lifting his hand and coaxing him close again, laying down beside him on the bed, “I already knew you had a crush on my dad.”

_But he didn’t know the rest of it or else he’d be furious._ Felix begged his expression didn’t give it away.

Peter smirked, dastardly handsome and effective against Felix, “Doesn’t matter though. I know you’ll never love him more than me.”

The words were white hot, piercing Felix. Once upon a time, Felix may have considered them sweet but right now, after everything that had transpired, they were stabbing him through the chest. He smiled, faking peace, beckoning Peter’s face close so they could share a kiss but maintaining distance everywhere else so he wouldn’t trigger another allergic reaction.

“Peter?” Felix murmured, lost in green eyes, the only part of Peter that didn’t remind him of his father, “I need to tell you something,” Peter tilted his head, hands taking Felix’s good one, holding it close, protecting it. At the gesture, at Peter’s confident, unknowing gaze, Felix lips wouldn’t move, sealing away his horrible secret, “…It’s nothing.”

Peter stroked at his wrist gently, lowering his gaze, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Peter’s face was infuriating, how easily it could slip from mischievous glee as he decorated Felix’s body with a marker to _concern and sorrow_ , pliant like soft cheese melting in his hands. Felix could never be like that, his visage stiffened by years of numbness.

“N-nothing,” Felix choked out, knowing that Peter would see through his dismissive answer but also knowing that he wouldn’t keep pressing.

“Okay,” Peter said, smiling, too trusting, as he kissed Felix’s forehead and slid off the bed, returning to his room with a brief sniffle, leaving Felix to lay there in his own confusion.

It should have been obvious who he would choose. Felix loved Peter for years, even after they drifted apart. Peter inexplicably came to his rescue saving him from his family, saving him from himself, yet Malcolm had such a grip on him. Felix didn’t understand how it came to be, how smoldering blue eyes trumped Peter’s gaze, how Felix somehow felt _safer_ with Malcolm.

**Saturday April 10 th, 2010**

The tension between them hadn’t lessened, only stretching tighter with every secret excursion they made, every lewd text sent. Felix couldn’t explain why it made him feel so free, so safe, as if the depthless void he had fallen into was cradling him, protecting him. It was only a matter of time until Felix would slip, a matter of time until Malcolm’s touch would be the only one he craved.

Felix blinked, shaking himself from his thoughts, “You didn’t have to change your shifts to match mine,” Felix said, standing by the register while Malcolm restocked the shelves.

“Nonsense. You’re still hurt,” Malcolm said, stashing extra cereal boxes on the highest shelf, “You need someone to handle the inventory. Besides, I prefer having someone to talk to,” He punctuated himself with a giggle, reaching out with a finger to prod Felix’s nose playfully.

Felix sputtered weakly, pulling his hood over and looking out the door, “Are you sure talking is what you wanted?” For a little more than a week, Malcolm would play the doting father in the morning, feeding Peter, cajoling him into games. Every night, Malcolm bared his true self to Felix, touching him like a man would, holding him like a lover. They did all but actual sex; Malcolm was satisfied with groping and kisses. The thought was a bandage over the crippling betrayal Felix had done to Peter.

Malcolm’s expression dropped slightly, brows knit together. Felix knew he made a mistake before he even finished his sentence. He lowered his head, tucking it between his shoulders, “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Malcolm’s palms were warm against his cheeks, pulling his head down lower as he pressed a kiss to Felix’s forehead. He lifted his face, smiling too warmly, fond like lovers, “I don’t mind,” His lips opened, teeth showing as he smiled at him goofily.

Felix didn’t smile back, eyes turning weak, feeling guilty, “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Hm?” Malcolm tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re just putting on a strong face,” Felix replied, backing away from his touch, playing with the plush lining of his sweater pocket.

Malcolm huffed, the pain fading, replaced by endearment. He licked his bottom lip, letting them stretch into a smile, “I’m okay being second fiddle. It’s not that bad, really. I mean, I went years without a wife, didn’t I?”

Silver eyes scalding, Felix stared at him like no one else Malcolm had ever loved, “That’s not true.”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, confused, seeing something in Felix that made him feel _alive_. He pushed forward, frightening Felix with his sudden action. He was standing in his space, breathing his air, blue eyes darkened with lust Felix hadn’t seen since the first time Malcolm kissed him. Felix swallowed, air feeling too heavy, too hot. Malcolm’s fingers glided over his shoulder, moving towards the exposed skin of his neck. The moment was cut short as Marilyn stepped into the convenience store, hissing at her son, “What the hell are you two doing together?”

Felix jerked back, finding the frigid presence his mother had almost comforting in the sweltering heat between himself and Malcolm. Unlike Felix, Malcolm scowled at her, folding his arms as he threw his head back arrogantly, “What do you want?”

“Didn’t know it was a crime to go shopping,” Marilyn snapped, storming into the back, grabbing a bottle of sprite, a magazine, and a bag of chips before dumping everything onto the counter. Felix quietly checked each item out, not bothering to look at his mother.

“Classy,” Malcolm said, raising a brow, “Is that lunch?”

“Shut up,” She responded, glaring at him as she dumped a handful of cash on the counter, eyes locked onto Felix as she grumbled under her breath, “Cheap slut,” She mumbled out, snarling when Felix reacted with indifference before grabbing her goods from the counter and storming out.

Malcolm didn’t make a move on Felix until she was well enough away, turning down an intersection. As soon as she was gone, Malcolm turned back around, surprised to find Felix halfway to the back, hobbling into the backroom.

“Hey,” Malcolm said, following after him, “You alright?”

Felix looked up showing no irritation or fear despite Marilyn’s harsh words, “Yeah. Just going to restock the chips,” He nodded his head towards the backroom, “She took the last bag of jalapeno chips,” He waited when Malcolm rushed ahead, opening the door for him with a polite smile. Felix returned the smile, walking into the back, picking up a box of chips from the bottom shelf, trying to balance it on his cane before Malcolm took the box from him, “I can do it myself,” Felix said, pouting slightly.

“I got this. That’s what I’m here for,” Malcolm said, smiling.

Felix tried to walk forward but Malcolm extended an arm, touching the wall and blocking him. He furrowed his brow, looking to Malcolm in confusion, “What is it?” He blinked away the surprise when he saw Malcolm’s face, drawn together with such seriousness. He looked like a completely different person.

“What did you mean by that?” Malcolm asked, still remembering their conversation before Marilyn interrupted them.

Felix pressed his lips together, eyes wandering, fingers twitching on the cane, “It’s nothing. Just forget about it,” He tried to walk forward only for Malcolm to crowd in his space, the grimness of his expression become infectious, “M-Malcolm?”

“I need to know,” Malcolm said, voice cold unlike anything Felix expected from the older man. His arm remained propped up in front of him, indicating to Felix that he would not budge, holding him hostage in that back room till he got the truth.

The heat was returning, almost suffocating. Felix had to say something before it strangled the words from his throat, “It’s hard to explain,” He started, looking away, “You always smile and laugh and say you’re okay with this being a secret but that’s not true,” Malcolm’s gaze darkened, beckoning Felix to continue, “You help me so much, more than anyone else, even _Peter_. I know you’re trying to get me to choose you and its killing you that I’m not.”

“Killing me?” Malcolm said, tonguing the inside of his cheek, “I lost my wife, you know. I can take a little heartbreak.”

“It’s not little. I can tell,” Felix said, flushing immediately. His eyes darted to the floor, embarrassed at his own pomposity.

Malcolm snickered, leaning forward with a tilted head, amused by Felix’s words, “You can tell?”

“I feel like you’ve loved me for years. It’s crazy right?” Felix choked out a short laugh, “Maybe its because you protected me from my mother or maybe because you protected me from my father without me even being aware. I don’t know; I just feel it,” Felix said, finding his courage, eyes trailing up Malcolm’s body, “And this secret is hurting you so much because you need to hide it from everyone, including me.”

Malcolm took Felix by the chin, forcing his half-hooded eyes to meet Felix’s trembling silver gaze, “Go on.”

Felix was shaken by the sudden eye contact, hands darting up to touch the back of Malcolm’s, ghosting over his knuckles, unsure, “You don’t have to pretend around me. I can see it,” He swallowed, trying to smile but knowing he was just making his expression more pained and awkward, “You don’t have to be alone with your secret anymore.”

Malcolm didn’t laugh, didn’t hide his apprehension behind a chuckle. He draped himself around Felix’s body, tossing the box of extra chips onto the ground so he could properly clasp his arms around the slight boy. Malcolm smiled into Felix’s neck as he spoke, “You’re right. This secret affair hurts so much,” He pulled away, scalding Felix with brilliant blue eyes, “But this isn’t the painful part. Not even close,” He hooked his arms around his waist, carrying his weight as he walked him backwards.

The world was tumbling around Felix. When he finally broke off from the kiss, he only just then realized they had fell over onto the staff couch, Malcolm laying over him between his legs, lips smearing across his skin. His voice was gruff in his throat, moans caught as he groped Felix under his sweater. Ashamed that he let this get so far, Felix fought back, pushing at Malcolm, gasping when he took his wrists and restrained him.

“W-What are you doing?” Felix said, cringing at how frantic he sounded. He twisted away when Malcolm tried to claim his lips again only for him to sink his teeth lightly into his neck. Felix whined, jerking his good arm free and shoving at Malcolm’s chest, trying to growl but finding his voice high and needy, “Stop!” Felix choked out, trying to make distance from Malcolm’s insistent lips, “Wait!”

_“I feel that way too.”_

Malcolm’s words halted Felix’s thoughts like he was doused in ice water. His eyes snapped open, his hand went limp, finding himself mesmerized by Malcolm’s expression. The expression was unreadable, almost unrecognizable, but it somehow made Malcolm look his age, old and weary but passionate. It reflected Malcolm so well.

“What you said, I feel the same,” Malcolm said. Felix’s heart pounded when he felt Malcolm’s fingers trembling on his collar, “I spent so long hating you, hating what I thought you’d become, but I think all that did was tie me closer to you,” He wasn’t looking into Felix’s eyes as he spoke, staring into the space beside his head, simply sorting thoughts through his head. When his eyes finally met Felix’s again, Felix felt like he was being crushed under unfathomable weight as a tear landed on his cheek, “I love you. I love you so goddamn much,” He choked out, hanging his head, cursing his weakness, cursing his betrayal.

_No one ever looked at him like that_. With a face so twisted in anguish and passion, Felix couldn’t resist being pulled in. Hands on Malcolm’s face, lifting him from his sorrow, Felix pressed their foreheads together as he spoke, the words feeling like glass shards in his mouth, “I love you too.”

Malcolm broke their kiss for only a moment, flipping the sign to closed before shutting the backroom door and crushing Felix into the couch, lips bruising each other’s, Felix mewling under him sounding more pleasurable than anything Malcolm had ever heard. He groaned, deep and gruff, in response, stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the ground, letting his name tag clatter under a shelf. He carefully took off Felix’s sweater, draping it over the side of the couch before lifting Felix’s shirt, snickering when it got stuck over Felix’s head.

That pause was the only reprieve the two had. The heat was back, an inferno building between them with skin hot against skin, chest hair tickling Felix as it ground against his body, fingers scraping Malcolm’s back in retaliation, hair knotted in each other’s hands as the hunger grew between them, pounding and uncontrollable.

By the time either of them was coherent again, the two found themselves laying on an old carpet in front of the couch, Felix somehow finding himself on top of Malcolm, draped over him playfully as Malcolm’s chest lifted from a slow breath. He was cradling Felix, humming lightly to him, an absent smile on his face as he traced the matching smile on Felix’s lips.

“You look like you enjoyed yourself,” Malcolm said, snickering when Felix averted his gaze petulantly, “So cute.”

For that moment, Felix was so happy, cradled in a warm, soothing embrace, lips and skin aching for more, alit with pleasure and heat. When they stopped, when the room cooled them, the guilt came back. Lifting him away from that cradling embrace, Felix sat at the end of the carpet turned away from Malcolm, crook of his finger between his teeth as his casted hand began to twitch.

Malcolm was at his side in an instant, “It’s not your fault.”

“But _Peter_ ,” Felix choked out, voice breaking, “What have I done?”

Malcolm took him by the shoulders, lips buried behind his ear, shushing him as he hugged him close, “We’ll figure it out together,” He tightened his grip on Felix, “You’re not alone in this.”

“Peter won’t forgive either of us,” Felix said, glazing over, biting down harder on his finger, drawing blood, “This is my fault.”

“Stop. Stop it,” Malcolm said, arms wrapped around Felix’s torso, pulling him flat against his back before he buried his face into the crook of his neck, “We’ll do this together. It’s _our fault._ Come on,” He smiled, sad and tortured, “I’m Peter’s father. Don’t you think I’m the bigger offender here?” He took Felix’s hand from his mouth, replacing the bleeding finger with his own, humming when Felix nibbled on it lightly, “It’ll be okay.”

_It would never be okay,_ but Felix didn’t have the heart to correct Malcolm.

 

**Tuesday April 13 th, 2010**

Felix predicted this. Felix knew Malcolm didn’t have the heart to tell Peter and he didn’t have the willpower to stop, just like Felix. This secret affair went on for too long and Felix fell too deeply into it. It ashamed him that Malcolm was now the person that made his heart pound, that Malcolm was the one he saw in his dreams. He covered his face, nausea making his stomach curl. It was more bearable getting beaten to death by his uncle than trying to balance this mess.

_He had to tell Peter the truth,_ had to tell him that he loved Malcolm now. Felix stood but fell right back into bed, the world spinning around him as he imagined the confession. In a swift, bitter moment, Felix would strip away the two people Peter loved in this world. It was unbearably unfair for Peter. Felix knew what he had to do, knew how to shoulder the pain for him.

“Are you ready for school?” Peter said, walking into Felix’s room with a buttered piece of toast, “Dad’s already out so this is all we have for breakfast,” He placed the plate on his bedstead, eyes narrowed as he watched Felix staring at him meekly in the middle of the room, “You feeling okay?”

“I have something to tell you,” Felix started, unable to meet his eyes.

Whatever humour Peter held died immediately, the look on his face was shocking as if he knew the truth already. The mortification in Felix’s expression was infectious and Peter was already reeling. Felix shut his eyes tight, terrified out of his mind as he spoke, “I found someone else,” That void returned, the one that usually appeared when Felix thought of his family, except now it was beckoned by Peter’s existence. Felix took a deep, shuddering breath, bowing his head, too afraid to look at Peter, “We can’t be together.”

“What… What the hell.”

Felix nearly bit through his lip. He looked up, stomach flipping when he saw the sheer anger in Peter’s gaze, grief taking him over but anger acting as a salve for the pain, “P-Peter. I still love you. I still care about you. I just—”

“Who is it?” Peter asked, folding his arms, ready to _kill_ whoever dared to steal Felix from him.

Felix shook his head. He would not let Peter suffer this pain, “He told me not to say,” He said, squealing pathetically when Peter charged forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt, nearly tackling him onto the bed and pinning him down by his collar. Felix was hysteric, but he wouldn’t let it slip. His bit down on his lip so hard, blood spurted out weakly, “Please don’t make me,” Peter punched the bed beside his head, arm trembling in fear but Felix would not budge, “ _I can’t_.”

His refusal to answer was infuriating but Peter relented, knowing that he may resort to violence if he continued to press, “How long has this been happening?”

Time was a mess, hours blurred into days blurring into weeks. Malcolm’s gaze warped time and broke rules the longer he stared into them, “Two weeks,” Felix choked out, forcing himself to concentrate through the haze. He gasped when Peter pulled away in a huff, running his hands through his hair, “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

“Shut up. _Shut up_ ,” Peter hissed out, covering his eyes, “During our date? During our camping trip?” Felix nodded to him, lips pressed tight together. Peter swore under his breath, pacing back and forth, “I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all.”

“I still—”

“Shut up!” Peter snapped, glaring at Felix, forcing the boy to crumple on the bed. He kicked the desk chair over, suppressing a scream in his throat. Peter forced himself to calm down, distilling his anger into cold fury as he spoke, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Felix couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, knowing that Peter would shut him up over and over till he felt better. He waited pathetically for Peter to leave, slamming the door shut behind him and charging down the stairs. The hard part was over; that was what Felix truly wanted to believe as he sobbed into his sleeve.

 

_You told him you had an affair_

_You didn’t tell him about me_

_Why?_

Felix shut his phone, sticking it into his pocket and covering his head at his desk. This was meant to be an open study period but Felix couldn’t find the motivation to open his textbook. He didn’t want to deal with school right now. He didn’t want to deal with Malcolm right now, didn’t want to deal with anyone. He just wanted to crawl back into the black hole he’d throw himself into to escape from everything, an endless numb void used to protect him from his mother and bullies. _He wanted to cry_ but he’d already drained his tears in the morning before running in late for class.

The bell rang, slicing through his solitude. He sprinted out of the room as quickly as he could with his cane, fingers rattling as he opened his locker, grabbing his lunch, trying to escape before anyone he knew—

“Hey.”

Felix dropped his lunch, turning around with a manic fear he thought he no longer had. Simon and Cory were behind him, both sullen faced as they looked down on him. Felix didn’t even realize he had crumpled over, trying to shrink himself away.

“Peter wants to talk with you,” Simon said, picking up his lunch and shoving it into Felix’s hands, nodding towards the staircase.

They didn’t make physical contact with him but Felix could feel it, a yoke around his neck as they guided him down to a gruesome fate. He stepped into the basement, the world trembling around him when he spotted Peter sitting on a chair staring at him while the Lost Boys were scattered amongst them all with uncomfortably, judging expressions. Felix couldn’t blame them; he deserved it.

Peter swung his legs over the chair dramatically, stepping around it, gesturing towards it with faux politeness, “Sit down,” Felix did as he was commanded, lowering himself on the chair, putting his cane beside him. At this vantage point, he was forced to look up at everyone despite his natural height, “Why don’t you let everyone know what happened?”

Felix shut his eyes, good hand curling in his sweater while his casted hand remained on his leg, “Peter. _Please_.”

“Tell them,” Peter said, “You’re wasting everyone’s lunch period the longer you draw this out.”

No quip from Nicholas. No interruption for Cory or Rufio. _They all knew_ and they were turning on him. How could Felix blame them? If he were Peter’s friend, he would do the same. Felix opened his eyes, a dead look reflected in them, “I cheated on Peter.”

Rufio huffed, rubbing at his mouth, pacing around before returning to his spot. Simon was rolling his eyes.

“Tell them how long you cheated on me,” Peter said, fingers twitching as he bent down, looking down on him.

Felix didn’t move even when Peter breathed against him, “Two weeks. After I was released from the hospital,” He knew what question was coming next, “I can’t tell you who it is.”

Peter growled, backing off, “Why? What’s so special about him that you can’t let me know? Are you trying to protect him?”

_I’m trying to protect you._ Felix couldn’t say a word, couldn’t even hint that it was Malcolm. He clicked his mouth shut, shaking his head back and forth, “N-No. I can’t say it,” His eyes snapped wide when Peter lifted his phone, pressing as close as he could, a threat in his eyes as lewd photos of Felix flashed over the phone screen, _gifts_ meant to tantalize Peter now used to torment Felix.

“Tell me or I’ll spread these photos everywhere,” Peter hissed, voice even and dark.

No matter how much Felix begged in his head, the Lost Boys weren’t intervening. Felix’s sin even more apparent.

“Don’t. Please don’t,” Felix murmured, remembering the torment he went through when that awful video was spread to the student body: The verbal and physical harassment that he was forced to endure; t _he beatings in the shower room from so long ago_ , triggered when the Coach Frederick accidentally called him a _queer_ when he kept falling behind during track, “I can’t. I can’t. Please. You know what they’ll do.”

Peter was unmoved, simply holding the phone in front of him, “Tell me who it is.”

Felix begged, nearly wailed, clinging to Peter’s wrist before being cast off. He charged at Peter, trying to wrench the phone from his hands only for _Rufio_ to hold him down by his shoulders, pinning him to the chair while Peter tapped away at his phone. Felix begged, desperate, pointless, as Peter sent the pictures to whoever he had planned, tearing away from Felix, gesturing the boys to follow him.

Rufio released him but Felix didn’t leave his chair, swearing he could hear the students laughing and gossiping through the walls. The boys didn’t look at him, didn’t even pause. Neither did Peter, unfazed by the humiliation he brought upon Felix. By the time Felix returned to himself, he hadn’t realized the second cruelty he had brought upon himself.

His cane was gone.

 

“Ow, ow…ow,” Felix grumbled, leaning against a fence for leverage as he reached for his ankle, trying to soothe the swollen flesh. He slid down slowly, cradling his ankle in his hands as he collected himself. If Felix had lived a different life, he would have considered this _unfair and cruel,_ but his experiences had hardened him. He almost wanted to laugh: No matter how hard he tried to escape from his misery, it would always find him.

Following the fences, cringing and groaning with every step, Felix eventually made it back home. He reached the door, unlocking it, and find it held shut with the deadbolt. Felix groaned loudly, punching it once with his good hand before falling to his knees, unable to support his weight on just one leg.

“Peter!” Felix shouted, on his hands and knees, “Let me in. _Please_ ,” He forced himself onto his feet and grabbed the chain with his hand, rattling it, trying to get Peter’s attention wherever he was in the house, “Peter, please!” He shouted again. Felix screamed when the door slammed shut and _crushed his fingers._

There was only one thing left to do: _Wait._ Felix did exactly that, eyes glassy and empty, returning to the void where he could be free of pain, comfortably numb. He hummed to himself as he leaned against the front wall beside the door, absently cradling the bruised fingers of his good hand. He didn’t want to think about how to live with both hands useless, didn’t want to think of anything right now except for how to stave the pain.

 

“F-Felix, why are you—” Malcolm said, finally returning from his work, seeing the door ajar and the deadbolt set. He clicked his tongue, rushing forward but stopping the moment he saw Felix’s crippled fingers, purple from bruising, “No, no, no,” He mumbled out, almost leaping to Felix’s side before pulling away, aware that he’d be able to do more with access to his first aid kit, “Peter! Open up!” Malcolm commanded.

Unlike Felix, Malcolm succeeded in summoning his son. He pushed past Peter, barely acknowledging him as he grabbed the first aid kit and took it outside. Peter said nothing, remaining cross on the couch with no hatred in his heart for his father.

“St-Stop, I got it,” Felix mumbled out, full body flinching when Malcolm tested his ankle.

“It might have gotten worse. You may need a cast for it,” Malcolm said, bothered by the swelling, “Sleep it off. We’ll see tomorrow,” He took Felix’s hand to survey the damage, but Felix protested, yanking away, cradling his hands in his sweater, “…Why didn’t you tell him about me?”

Felix’s head lolled to the side, barely balancing on the wall as he stared into the distance. _He was protecting Peter,_ but his motivation muddled after what he went through, “I didn’t want him to hate you too. It’s better if its just me,” He ticked his head when Malcolm took out a cooling pad from the first aid kit, activating it and carefully draping it around Felix’s bruised fingers.

When Felix gazed to Malcolm, the older man immediately closed the distance between them, kissing him deep but quick, pulling away before Felix could protest, “Thank you,” Malcolm whispered, helping Felix up and handing him a broom handle to use as a makeshift cane.

As soon as he brought the boy in, his son was at him in a second, “No. Hell no. I’m _not_ living with Felix anymore.”

“S-Stop, stop,” Malcolm said, holding his son back, shoving him away from the stairs as Felix slowly climbed his way up, “Stop!”

“Get the fuck off me!” Peter growled, glaring at his father with all the hate he mustered for Felix, “Don’t you fucking dare defend Felix,” _Don’t pick him over me._

“He’s got nowhere else to go,” Malcolm shouted.

“He could sleep in the streets for all I care,” Peter hissed, pulling away and pacing in a circle, scraping a hand through his hair, “God, after everything we’ve been through. I can’t believe it,” In front of his father, the one person in the world he didn’t have to fake strength to, Peter immediately felt himself break down, “ _How could he do this_?” His words were muffled, hand over his mouth as he crushed his eyes shut tightly.

Malcolm watched on, overwhelmed with guilt, but forced to play the innocent bystander as he pulled Peter into a hug, rubbing circles on his back, offering comfort when he was the least qualified to do so. If he hadn’t acted on his desires, if he hadn’t snuck into Felix’s room that night, his son wouldn’t have been in such pain.

“How about we have cake for dinner?” Malcolm said, whispering into Peter’s forehead, rubbing at his shoulders, anything to make Peter feel better, “Or hamburgers. You love burgers.”

Peter shook his head, pulling away, a fervent stare in his eyes, “I want Felix to leave,” He stepped forward at the slightest hesitation from his father, “I know you care about him, but I don’t want to even look at him right now. You know what I’ve been through to be with him,” Peter’s world belonged to Felix, this timeline and the last. Peter grew up, obsessed with his death, living out a shallow, meaningless life in consequence, “ _Only you._ ”

It was a maddening decision. Felix withheld Malcolm’s name to protect him from his son’s wrath and now he had to cast him out. He nodded, unable to meet his son’s eyes, something that never happened to him before. Malcolm had meant to visit Felix when Peter was sufficiently calmed down, but that moment never came. His son was so distraught; it was difficult to think of anything other than cheering him up. Any attempt just made Malcolm feel sick inside knowing that his son’s suffering was his fault.

It was well into the night before Malcolm had the time to sneak into Felix’s room. The boy was awake, curled up on his side, staring at his phone. Felix’s eyes flickered up from where he was, the dim light of his phone reflecting off his silver eyes, making them glow. He sprung up from the bed, crawling to the end of it, throwing his arms around Malcolm desperately, pressing his face into his collar while the older man cradled him.

“It’ll be alright,” Malcolm whispered, carefully testing Felix’s ankle which had reduced back to the proper size. He smiled in relief, the tightness in his chest that Peter wound up finally loosening, “Everything will be okay.”

Felix said nothing, lips pressed tightly shut as he buried himself in Malcolm’s hold. Malcolm peered over Felix’s shoulder to his phone, stomach twisting when he saw lewd pictures of Felix on what appeared to be an internet browser. His eye twitched; his grip tightened.

 

**Wednesday April 14 th, 2010**

“Who did you send those photos to?” Malcolm said, arms folded, blocking the door when Peter tried to leave for school early.

Peter’s face pulled into a scowl, “He deserved it.”

“Doesn’t matter what he did. No one deserves that,” Malcolm said, eyes firm, “It’s deplorable.”

It had only been a day, but Peter felt like he’d been drowning for weeks. As much as he wanted to mull around in his own misery, he knew he had to save face, knew he had to look strong to everyone around him. That was why Peter settled on anger, vengeance. It infuriated him that his father didn’t agree with him.

“He cheated on me for two weeks,” Peter growled through his teeth, shoving Malcolm’s aside as he opened the door, “I’m going to class.”

His father took him by the shoulder, yanking him back, “Don’t do this. You’re only going to regret this.”

_He was probably right._ Peter hated himself for years to come after casting out Felix and sending him to his death. It felt too good to hate him though, too good to ruin him, and Peter quickly realized why he never reached out to Felix in his previous life. At the time, in the moment, it felt too correct to follow his impulses.

“I’m driving Felix to school. Are you coming with me?” Malcolm asked, his son shooting him a bewildered look, “ _Someone_ stole his cane. You’re not going to expect him to talk all the way on his own with an injured leg, are you?”

Filled with spite, Peter forced a smile onto his face as he obliged.

The silence in the car was torturous. Felix remained pressed to his side of the car, nibbling away at a piece of buttered toast while Peter glared at him from his seat. Malcolm kept his eyes glued to the front, occasionally peering back at the two. Concocting devious words, Peter’s lips suddenly pulled into a smirk, frightening Felix when he peered over.

“I can’t believe I wasted my first time with you,” Peter said, loud and boisterous, “I bet that wasn’t even your first time,” Felix flinched at the words, eyes immediately darting out the window, “It was Mr. Darling, wasn’t it? No wait, I know,” Peter leaned in, hissing his words, “I bet it was Mikey.”

Felix turned, mouth hanging, looking like Peter had just stabbed him in the stomach, breaking down when Peter simply stared at him with a smile. Felix in pain gave Peter just as much suffering but he couldn’t stop himself. It was a drug, seeing the one who spurned him suffering.

“Peter. Watch your mouth,” Malcolm hissed, glaring at him in the rear-view mirror.  

Peter hummed, crossing his legs as he tapped at his knee, trying to figure out which button to press next, “You know, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out who you cheated on me with. I’m still not sure. I doubt anyone from school would be interested in you,” He snorted, lifting a brow, “You’re covered in ugly scars. You’re so emotionally stunted, anyone could show you a bit of kindness and you’d faun all over them. I mean, you fell in love with a fictional character! You’ve got no real standards.”

“ _Peter,_ please stop,” Felix murmured, flinching when Peter hit the seat between them.

“I know why you cheated on me: You’re greedy, delusional, starved for affection, just like your _mother_.”

The car grinded to a halt. Malcolm turned around, glaring at his son and snarling in his face, “Shut up. Right now.”

Peter didn’t have time to react to or rebut his father. The door suddenly opened, Felix hobbling out and marching ahead, desperate to get to _away_ from Peter. Malcolm was out of the car in an instant, rushing over to his side, offering a hand to support his weight. Peter remained in the car, huffy and disgustingly self-satisfied _until he caught Felix in the corner of his eye._ His heart stuttered, aching when he saw Felix bury his face into Malcolm’s shoulder, saw him clutch at him despairingly.

Despite the sudden regret, the moment Felix was back in arm’s reach, back in range of his ravenous words, Peter was immediately filled with spitefulness. He said nothing more in the car ride but poured all his loathing into Felix the moment his father was gone. Felix didn’t react, remained non-emotive, _but Peter knew better._ It was a mask, the same mask he used to block Peter from entering back in his life, the same mask that failed to reflect the truth. He knew his lectures of Felix’s inadequacy and worthlessness were breaking through to him, bit by bit, just as Peter’s attempts at compassion had.

_Art class was first period_ which meant Felix was trapped with Peter. He pushed past everyone in the way as he rushed into the classroom, hearing groans of disgust and giggling as he moved. Peter was at his heels, all but chasing him, cornering him in the classroom. Felix cursed the teacher under his breath, his wish for a lecture dashed as the teacher declared another studio day for everyone to work on their projects.

Felix looked beside him, swallowing when he saw the venomous smile stretched across Peter’s face, “Peter,” Felix choked out, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s hard to believe you when you won’t even tell me who you cheated on me with,” Peter said, propping his head up on one hand as he leaned against the table, “Come on, tell me,” He hissed lightly when Felix averted his gaze, lips sealed, “Does he really mean that much to you?”

To protect Malcolm, Felix would suffer Peter’s wrath. The thought was almost fond and made Felix smile, just a little, “Yes.”

Twitching, Peter was unreadable for a moment before pulling away, scoffing under his breath as he opened his sketchbook, “I’ll find out one way or another.”

_One way or another_ , the weight of his phone suddenly became noticeable in his sweater pocket. Felix swallowed, seeing Peter’s eyes darting at his bag then back at Felix. One look at his phone history and it would be obvious who stole his heart. Unconsciously, Felix grabbed his backpack and dragged it onto his lap, clinging to it while Peter stared at him, eyes filled with mirth.

When lunch time came, Felix was commanded to go to the basement by Rufio. This time, no one followed him in but Felix didn’t notice, mind buzzing with whatever Peter had planned for him. He stepped into the basement, finding it deserted. He blinked, narrowing his eyes, and nearly screaming when he was tackled into the ground. Felix tumbled against the vinyl floor, breath knocked out of him as his backpack was wrestled away from him. His attempt to retrieve it were met with a weight planting itself on his chest, crushing his good arm onto the ground beside him while the casted arm remained useless next to him.

Peter said nothing as he sat on Felix’s chest, blank and unreadable as he searched through Felix’s bag, tossing scraps and books onto the ground as he scavenged it. He searched every pocket, turning it around and shaking it when he couldn’t find his phone. He growled, tossing it aside, jerking at Felix’s sweater violently until he managed to yank it off.

“S-Stop!” Felix choked out, twisting his body, bucking it hard enough to jostle Peter onto the ground and lift the weight from his chest. He took a deep breath, scrambling forward and grabbing onto his sweater, wings distorted as he yanked at the fabric, “Peter!”

Grip loosening from the sweater, Peter charged forward and tackled Felix down once more, arms right around his torso pressing his arms against his body. Felix gasped at the impact, seeing stars briefly as his head collided with the ground. Peter was between his legs, pinning him to the ground with all his strength. Felix felt like a turtle, helpless on its back as he twisted around uselessly.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Peter said, the stillness in his voice not reflecting the violence he had resorted to. He took Felix’s wrists, pinning them to either side of his head as he stared into Felix’s eyes, desperate, _hurt_ , “Why do you love him more than me? Why him? Has he possibly gone through just as much as we have?”

Little did Peter know, Felix’s secret lover went through just as much.

“I just can’t,” Felix whispered, shutting his eyes when Peter draped himself over his body, breathing him in. Sweetness, passion, that was honestly worse than violence.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through for you,” Peter said, puzzled at the circumstances, “I’ve lived two lives. Two lives that revolved around _you_.”

Felix hesitated, trying to comprehend that statement, “I don’t understand.”

Peter scoffed, hanging his head, remembering exactly what his father said about his mother, “Of course you don’t,” He released Felix, propping himself up. Felix remained still, pinned by confusion despite his fear, “The first time I lived to adulthood, you disappear on February 15th. Your body turns up on April 28th,” He felt the boy shiver under him, eyes widening, “Beaten to death by a steel bat after being tortured. Dismembered and thrown into a well.”

“W-What…” Felix gasped out, face twitching, eyes wandering, “What the hell?”

“I was obsessed with you, you know? Even though we weren’t friends, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It ruined me,” Peter almost laughed, cursing himself. He was such a child, so stupid, so pathetic, “Then I died. Michael freaking Darling killed me and I woke up here,” He lowered himself, touching Felix’s face, feeling the heat in his cheeks and the warmth in his breath, “This time I was going to do everything right. I was going to protect your from your family, protect you from everything, _love you properly._ That’s why we’re together right now, _that’s why you’re alive_. It was us; we did this together.”

“…I don’t understand.”

Peter blinked, blood draining from his face, numbness washing over him.

This was something Felix was not ready to wrap his head around. He was shaking his head, drawing all the despair from Peter, “I don’t understand at all.”

Peter sucked in a breath, holding it, a grumble in the back of his throat, “Only Dad,” He whispered to himself, realizing what his father went through to save his life, understanding his pain when he lost his wife. He wondered if Malcolm showed his mother the very first police report, wondered if it failed to convince her just as his words had, “Fine. _Fine_.”

Peter stood, finally allowing Felix to get back up. He threw the sweater at him, kicking his backpack onto his lap before turning towards the door, marching out. Felix scrambled to his feet, lunging at Peter, catching him around the waist and holding him tightly.

“Wait, please,” Felix choked out, “Let me fix this.”

Uncontrollable spite bubbling in his chest and spitting fire, Peter took Felix by his good wrist, yanking him forward, the next moment of his life blurring out.

 

Malcolm restlessly waited against the wheel of his car, staring at the front of the school waiting for his son and lover. His eyes darted quickly to the clock and back to the windshield, foot tapping against the floor of his car. It had been nearly an hour after school and neither Felix nor Peter had come out.

Catching him off guard, Malcolm slipped his phone out from his pocket when it vibrated. He checked the screen, seeing a message from his son: _I took the train. Where are you._ Malcolm swallowed, stepping out from his car, pushing past straggling students and dismissed clubs. It was a difficult search; Malcolm didn’t know where Felix’s lockers were or where his last class would be. He had to be smart about this: Where was someone as reclusive as Felix hide? Thoughts churning, Malcolm quickly made his way downstairs.

The basement was segmented into two sections: One section newer with active classrooms and the other used for storage. Stepping into the storage section, Malcolm was drawn immediately to a backpack with its contents scattered on the ground. He swallowed, quickly identifying Felix’s writing. He paused longer than he should have, panicking when he realized Felix’s phone wasn’t there, _his secret potentially exposed_. He scolded himself, realizing that he was fixated on the incorrect detail, as he gathered everything and stuffed it into Felix’s bag.

“Felix?” Malcolm called out, heading deeper into the storage area, “Felix?” He repeated, stepping into an abandoned classroom, hearing a rattle in a dark corner, “ _Shit_ , Peter, what did you do?”

“ _Malcolm_.”

The voice was weak but Malcolm heard it. He turned to the entrance, watching the door push back closed slowly revealing Felix laying against the wall, one eye swollen shut. Footprints were visible on his sweater, fresh bruises visible on his skin. Felix looked a mess but he still smiled, eyes glassy and empty.

Malcolm scuttled over, on his knees immediately, taking Felix’s hand, trying to comfort him.

Felix stopped him, smile stretching unnaturally wide, “It’s not as bad as it looks. I just didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” He swallowed shallowly, “Didn’t want to get any teachers involved.”

“Did Peter do this?” Malcolm said, unable to take his eyes off Felix. He passed his bag to him, watching the boy immediately clutch it against his chest in a soothing gesture, “Don’t move. I’ll help you up,” He took Felix’s arm, lifting him carefully, stopping immediately when Felix stayed limp, “Felix?”

“ _He hates me_ ,” Felix mumbled, clutching his bag tight, “He hates me so much.”

The walls they tore down, the connection they made, gone in an instant because of impulsiveness. Felix choked down a sob, a disturbing stillness overtaking him, eyes wide and empty as numbness filled him. It was such a familiar feeling, Felix hadn’t even realized he missed it. He stood on his own, leading Malcolm into the backroom of the auditorium where he hid his phone. He reached into the cubby, pulling his phone out and having it immediately slip through his aching fingers and clatter on the floor.

Felix moved to take it but was held in place by Malcolm’s hand on his shoulder. The older man was offset, head on his shoulder, gaze lowered as he wrapped his arms around Felix’s narrow waist and yanked him close, careful not to agitate any new bruises.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Malcolm said, smiling gently, “You’ve been doing it all your life. Not anymore, not in front of me.”

The barrier between Felix and his injuries crumbled ever so slightly, pain seeping through the cracks, making him feel sluggish and weak. He pressed himself against Malcolm, the older man’s warmth giving him reassurance. In a fit of desperation, Felix pushed their lips together, catching Malcolm unaware. The kiss was brief, rough, just a simple balm to quell Felix’s pain. Parting slowly, staring into Malcolm’s concerned expression, he really wanted to kiss him more, really wanted to return to the floor of the store’s backroom when everything was right in the world.

But this was punishment. Punishment for being weak. Punishment for preying on both Peter and Malcolm.

Felix collapsed into Malcolm’s grasp, grasping at him pathetically. He blinked, shaken from his thoughts. Looking back, he never truly understood how Peter went from gleefully seducing and humiliating him to genuinely caring about him, going as far as to protect him from his destructive family.

“Peter said—” Felix choked on his words, hanging his head as he pulled away from Malcolm, “He said something strange to me.”

Malcolm sighed, stroking the side of Felix’s face, “You don’t have to say it if its painful.”

Felix shook his head jerkily, “N-No. It’s not,” He met Malcolm’s eyes, lowering himself so it was easier for their eyes to meet, “He told me he lived two lives and that in the first one, I die,” Malcolm stiffened suddenly but said nothing else, face betraying nothing, “And this second one, I’m alive now because he worked to save me.”

“And? What did you say?”

Felix swallowed, feeling like he was being tested, “I said I didn’t understand,” He was shaking his head again, “I still don’t but I feel like I should,” It was a betrayal that led to his beating.

“Ah,” Malcolm said, voice gruff and quiet before he knelt and retrieved Felix’s phone, “Let’s go home. Get you patched up.”

Felix wanted to reject this, didn’t want to face Peter again, but he had nowhere else to go. He let Malcolm walk him back, using his shoulder for support the whole time.

 

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about it,” Peter growled out, sitting at the foot of his bed when his father stepped in. He stood, marching forward to push past his father’s shoulder only to be rebuffed, hands grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and shoving him backwards into his room until his back hit the wall, ”W-What the hell!”

Malcolm shut him up with a harsh look, furious but oddly serene, “You need to stop this.”

Peter hissed back, anger like flames licking and twisting at his father’s hands, “Stop standing up for him. He can talk for himself,” He grabbed his wrists, trying to pry him off, “Get off of me!”

“Just listen to me!” Malcolm shouted, clinging to Peter with all his strength, “If you stay on this, it’s only going to give you pain. Felix is—” He clamped his mouth shut, head ticking away, trying to formulate his words without giving away the truth, “Hate him all you want, just don’t turn yourself into one of the monsters in his life again.”

The look on Peter’s face almost made Malcolm retch, the coldness he had mustered for his father almost unbearable, “Why are you siding with him after he cheated on me?” The moment of hesitation from Malcolm was just enough for Peter to tear away, marching around his father to the door, “I lost a lifetime for him. What did you do other than kill his father and fuck his mother?”

Malcolm charged forward, catching Peter’s wrist, frantic. He needed to protect his son, needed to protect his lover. The contradictions were driving him mad just as they once did Felix, “Fine. Fine,” He swallowed, “I won’t forsake Felix but I’m on your side. Trust me.”

Huffing, Peter pulled his wrist free, arms folded as he spoke his conditions, “I don’t want Felix living here anymore.”

Malcolm said nothing because his desperation for his son’s respect already spoke for him, “And you’ll leave him alone?”

Peter bit down on his lip, quelling the dark thought simmering in his mind. He tilted his head back, giving his father a pleasant look, “I promise.”

 

**Wednesday April 21 st, 2010**

Despite Peter’s promises, It didn’t take long for everything to come to a head.

_Is everything okay?_

Felix swallowed at the message from Malcolm in the middle of school. He whipped his head back and forth, checking the nearby crowd before answering the text message: _Yeah._

_How’s Peter been?_

Felix stiffened at the question, disoriented for a moment before typing back: _Good too._ He hoped the brevity didn’t reveal the truth. He shoved his phone into his backpack when the vice principal’s door opened. He took a slow breath, stilling himself as he stepped into the office.

The walls were cold. The room was too silent, nothing to muffle out the creaking of Felix’s chair as he tried to still his trembling leg. His eyes only flickered once to his vice principal to look at the print out in her hand. He fought the sourness in the back of his throat, seeing himself in one of the many provocative photos Peter had taken of him.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this spreading around the school,” The vice principal said, calm, almost friendly.

Felix rubbed at his bared arms, his body shivering in just a thin shirt and jeans. He could see the vice principal eyeing the old bruises and scars along his arm, judging him. He did his best to cover himself, hands coming up to clutch at his elbows, “Mm. I know.”

“We know you have no hand in this. Whoever is spreading this is doing this against your will,” She continued, crumpling up the print out and tossing it into the trash, “We called you in so we can help you. We just need your cooperation in this.”

Felix blinked, gaze lowered, head tilting to the side.

“Felix? You _will_ cooperate with us, correct? We can protect you from any retribution so you don’t have to be afraid,” The vice principal continued, wary but not malicious. Felix almost wished she was; he was much more accustomed to malice, “Do you know who spread these photos around?”

It was obvious to anyone, but they couldn’t act without a confirmation from the victim. Felix remained where he was, head ticked to his left while his gaze wandered in the corner of the office, “Devin.”

“Devin?” The vice principal narrowed her eyes, “Devin Forsythe?” Felix nodded, still not meeting her gaze. She reclined in her chair, folding her hands together, “I see. We’ll look into this.”

“Can I go now?” Felix said, foot tapping again. His injured hand, cast replaced with a simple wrap of bandages, slapped down on his leg, forcing it still.

“There’s a couple more questions I have for you,” She said, pretending not to notice Felix cringing at her words, “A month ago, Peter Banning told me he was working on an outreach program,” _The Lost Boys,_ no doubt they were accidentally considered a gang by the superiors, “He named you as one of the students he had reached out on. Can you tell me more about this?”

Felix shut his eyes, finding humour in this. To protect him from his mother and uncle, Peter put together a task force and spun a web of lies to keep the vice principal from splitting them. It didn’t seem like a feasible task to match Peter’s silver tongue. The vice principal would see through it right away just as everything else.

“I was being bullied back home. Peter put the group together to protect me. He ended up rescuing me,” Felix said, eyes fond at the memory, “The club is still there. Peter’s still reaching out to me,” His hands came together on his lap, fidgeting, “He’s my only friend. _My best friend._ ”

Felix was yanking at the hem of his shirt, feeling so exposed under everyone’s eyes, felt like they could see through his shirt and judge all the scars along his body. His usual heavy sweater was a relief that Felix hadn’t realized he needed so much.

The vice principal lowered her gaze, expression chilly, “I see,” She leaned back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, “You can go now. Thank you for your cooperation,” She gestured to the door, watching Felix stand and shuffle out on his new cane. She eyed it intently, “Felix. If there is something wrong, you must tell the school. We will have to involve your parents if this continues on.”

Felix flinched but nodded anyway. He marched out before she replied, heading over to the staircase and marching into the basement. He stepped into the same abandoned classroom, shutting the door behind him silently, eyeing Peter who was perched on one of the desks, legs crossed, and arms folded as he waited.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting,” Peter said, sliding off the desk as he approached Felix.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Felix murmured, eyes glued to the floor and eventually shutting when Peter was mere inches away, their feet interlocking, “Can I have it back yet?”

Peter snorted, smirking, “You know that’s not how it works,” He backed off slowly, but Felix didn’t gain any confidence from the proximity. He sat back on the desk, hands on his thighs, swinging his feet idly, “Come on,” He almost hissed, “Get on your knees.”

Felix’s breath caught in his throat. He thought he’d grow accustomed to the anxiety after doing this so much. No matter what he did, once he lowered himself onto his knees, Felix could feel himself getting buried and crushed.

The quiet place Felix hid himself usually cradled him until after his ordeal was over. This time, Felix was blinking awake, Peter’s cock still in his mouth, hands holding Peter’s thighs apart. He stopped bobbing his head, gagging, trying to shove himself off only for hands on his head to yank him forward.

“Wh-What the hell,” Peter groaned out, tilting his head forward and glaring at Felix, “Why’d you suddenly stop?” His breath hitched when Felix’s gaze met his, eyes pleading and desperate. Peter preferred the usual docile emptiness. He coughed, shutting out his feelings for Felix as he jerked Felix’s head forward by his hair, forcing Felix to avert his gaze, “Don’t look at me.”

That one lucid moment passed quickly, Felix returning to the haze as he sucked Peter’s cock, whining when Peter yanked at his hair. The next time Felix awoke, he was groaning at disgust as come splashed his face, sticking to his hair and cheeks. He shut his eyes, biting back a sob, fingernails cutting into his palms as he balled his fists on top of his knees. When he heard Peter shuffle, Felix opened his eyes automatically. Peter’s hand was still in his hair, forcing his neck up and exposing Felix’s lewd expression. His other hand was taking pictures with his phone.

“Well? You want my forgiveness, right?” Peter said, staring at Felix intently on his phone, licking his lips when Felix’s shaky fingers collected the come from his face and licked it up all the while Peter was taking pictures, “Good boy,” He tapped at his phone several times. Felix could see him uploading something, the telltale sign of a browser on the screen.

Felix remained on his knees as Peter cleaned himself up, zipping up his pants and straightening out his shirt. His stomach was churning, head buzzing, but Felix couldn’t let it show. He heard Peter open a cabinet behind him, pulling something out.

“Do you forgive me yet?” Felix asked, flinching when his sweater was thrown over his head. Felix caught it, moving to slide it over his body but halting when he spotted _yellow paint_ on the sleeve. He swallowed, trembling as he lifted his hooded sweater and saw the yellow paint splattered all along the back, ruining the purple stripes and covering up the stenciled wings he grew to love.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said, not bothering to look at him as he exited the classroom.

Felix couldn’t move, feeling buried all over again as he held the sweater to his chest, the buzzing in his head unbearably loud as he bit through the crook of his index finger.

Despite the vandalism, Felix put it on anyway. He’d rather be filthy than exposed.

On the train home, Felix pulled out his phone once more, seeing a text from Malcolm again. He stared at it fondly, yearning for Malcolm to comfort him when they were in private again. He checked the message, almost crumbling at the sight of it: _Are you okay?_

“No,” Felix whispered to himself, tapping back a quick: _Yes._

Felix left the train, wandering several streets away from Peter’s house as he made his way to the convenience store. With the maintenance key, Felix entered the backroom of the store, kicking past his duffel bag of clothes as he collapsed onto the mattress on the floor, wrapping himself up in blankets, building a cocoon to separate him from the world. His breathing was choppy, sounding haggard and wet. He punched the mattress, cursing and screaming into the sheets, hating himself and everything he had done. Peter once told him it wasn’t his fault but with the way he is now and the trend that he had set, Felix could not find any truth in Peter’s assessment. For letting it get this far, this would _always_ be his fault.

“Felix?”

Felix didn’t move from his mound of blankets as Malcolm entered the backroom, shutting the door and rushing to his side. He sat down on the mattress, stroking at his back as he coaxed him over, holding him tightly. Whining, Felix couldn’t stop himself from crumbling, _shattering_ in Malcolm’s arms as he ran his fingers over the hardened paint across his back. Malcolm quickly realized the source of his agony and stripped the sweater off, bundling Felix up in the blanket as he cradled him, leaning against the end of the couch where the mattress was pressed against.

“It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay,” Malcolm whispered to him, hushing Felix when his screaming got louder, “I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” He eyed the sweater, Peter’s gift to Felix that he treasured so much despite his protests, “I’ll get you a new sweater. One without gawdy wings on the back.”

Felix jerked away, shaking his head, hands gripping into Malcolm’s shirt as he bowed forward, “I don’t want it.”

“What do you want then?” Malcolm asked.

“I want him to _stop_ ,” Felix shouted, voice breaking, crumpling on the mattress, “I just want Peter to stop!”

Malcolm nearly bit through his lip. _Peter promised to stop hurting Felix_ if Malcolm moved Felix out. He had suspected it but tried to believe his son anyway, giving him the benefit of the doubt. _How naïve of him,_ to fall for his son’s lies when he was so skilled at seeing through them. Growling in his throat, Malcolm stood from the mattress with fury in his mind, but Felix grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down, clutching onto his arm tightly to stop him. Malcolm softened immediately, stroking at his hair affectionately.

“D-Don’t. Please. He told me not to say anything,” Felix choked out, head bowed on the mattress as he clung to his lover, “I don’t want him to hate me more.”

Delusions were taking over Felix’s mind, the same ones that made him think an imaginary character could save him from his family. Peter would never forgive him, but Felix had deluded himself into thinking this was still attainable. He didn’t want anyone to intervene, not his vice principal, not Malcolm, but he didn’t have the strength to fight back. Malcolm wondered how much more Felix could bottle up before he’d come to a breaking point.

“Please let me take care of this,” Malcolm whispered into his hair, “Please let me help you.”

Felix shook his head, resistant to everything Malcolm tried. In the end, all Malcolm managed to do was cradle Felix to sleep, the boy exhausted by his emotions. He laid him down on the mattress, stripping off the rest of his clothes before stripping off his own clothes and tucking himself into bed beside him, protecting Felix while he slept. The boy purred softly, unconsciously cuddling with his lover. Despite the peacefulness in his gestures, Felix’s face was still twisted in grief. Malcolm noted that even as he slept, Felix looked so troubled.

 

The store was well past closing time but Malcolm hadn’t packed up or restocked the shelves. He had the mind to lock the front when he went to comfort Felix but he hadn’t bothered turning out the lights. Malcolm awoke well into the dead of night with Felix curled up in his arms. He lifted himself, stretching lightly as he moved to stand, stopping when a hand reached out and took him by the wrist.

Malcolm took the hand and kissed it, turning slowly as he whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just closing up the store,” He let himself get pulled forward, playing docile as Felix climbed on top of him. He caught Felix’s wrists when they reached into his pants, “Felix. I know you’re not well.”

Felix couldn’t bear to look at him, hanging his head so he could hide in Malcolm’s chest, “Please?” He pulled his limbs to Malcolm’s chest, bowing to him, “I need this.”

Malcolm could feel a thrumming in his chest, a heat building in him at the sight of Felix licking his lips, crooning, “You want comfort. I get that, but don’t make this something you’ll regret,” Malcolm said, hand trailing down Felix’s side.

The boy nodded, shutting his eyes briefly before opening them, a confident gaze to reassure Malcolm, “I won’t regret,” He said, letting Malcolm roll him onto the mattress. A smile flashed across his face, lips slipping open as Malcolm leaned in.

“Okay,” Malcolm purred, claiming Felix’s lips in a kiss, “ _Okay._ ”

Shedding the rest of his clothes, sheets sticky with sweat and molded around their panting bodies, the horrors of the day and the horrors to come were wiped clean from their minds for just one moment of their lives. The salty taste of Peter’s skin in Felix’s mouth was finally gone. The bruises were nothing more than remnants of a pain that no longer existed.

Felix weaved their fingers together as Malcolm maintained a steady rhythm with his hips, flush against Felix’s in steady beats. He groaned as he lay down on Felix’s shoulder, taking a deep breath of his natural musk, heady and erotic. Felix matched the sound, voice high just as Malcolm liked it. The older man chuckled in response, rocking his hips faster against him. Chest hair pleasantly scratched at Felix’s body, erasing all the pain that lingered.

Clutching at Malcolm’s face, gasping and whining as the heat between them smoldered, “Tell me you love me,” Felix whispered, desperately tasting Malcolm’s lips and nibbling at his scruff playfully.

The smile was pressed against his cheek, hair tickling Felix’s chin, “I love you, Felix. I’ve _always_ loved you,” He clutched Felix tight, heat spilling from his cock and filling the boy under him. He hummed thoughtfully just as he always did when he searched for a coy remark to retort to his son, “Sorry. I forgot to bring condoms.”

Felix said nothing, jerking himself to completion as he squeezed his thighs around Malcolm, “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” He shut his eyes, crooning with his head tilted backwards as he came, spurting all over his stomach.

A chuckle came from the older man as he smeared the mess with his fingers, wiping it off on a nearby towel, “What a treat,” He said with a shrill giggle, brushing Felix’s hair back so he could stare at his face. The amusement faded, replaced with softness as he spoke, “How are you?”

High on the moment, so deeply in love, Felix responded truthfully, “I’m good. Really.”   

 

**Thursday April 22 nd, 2010**

“What’s he smiling about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to make eye contact.”

The words drowned out around him. Felix kept his thoughts on last night, of Malcolm holding him and pleasing him. The goofy smile on his face could have been considered romantic if he was anyone but Felix. He was glowing, bounce in his step even as he hobbled with a cane. It didn’t matter that people were staring at him like he was some disgusting creature, didn’t matter that his locker was scrawled with offensive words, Felix only cared for the memory playing in his head, the love he made last night. It was a temporary balm, Felix knew, but he’d cherish it for as long as he could before reality crashed down on him again.

“Oops,” Peter said, loud and obnoxious as he bumped into Felix’s shoulder with enough force to knock the books from his hands. He stopped, looking back with a sinister smirk that died the moment Felix failed to react, his face lit with neutral amusement as he collected his books, “What are you so happy about?”

Rufio was beside him, taking a deep breath, “Oh shit. Here we go.”

Felix said nothing, concentrating on the mental image of his lover and not the chaos around him. He took only two steps before Peter cut him off, blocking him when he tried to go around, “What are you smiling about?” He glowered when Felix tilted his head back, furious at how _unaffected_ Felix was by his presence, “What the hell is this about?”

The happiness was a high that Felix was without for so long. The buzz on pleasure was still warm inside of him. He stood tall, smiling too pleasantly as he spoke, “I had sex last night,” He perked up when Peter’s mood dropped, “It was amazing,” Bitterness filled Felix’s veins, mixing with the lust giving Felix a whole new kind of vigour, “You can do whatever you want to me. As long as _he_ loves me, I’ll keep winning.”

The punch to Felix’s cheek was sudden but expected. Felix reeled, dropping his cane and collapsing onto the ground. He spit out a drop of blood, rubbing at his cheek before his sweater was yanked upward, another hand coming at him. Felix caught it this time, wrestling with Peter, snarling at him before whipping his head forward and striking Peter in the nose with his forehead.

“Holy shit!” Rufio shouted, grabbing Peter by the arms and yanking him back, fighting him the whole time as Felix backed off, rubbing at his cheek absently, “Goddamn it Peter, you’re in school!” He choked when Peter accidentally elbowed his stomach, releasing him for just a second as Peter lunged forward, tackling Felix onto the ground, rolling him onto his back and sitting down on his chest to pin him.

Felix took two more punches to the jaw before striking Peter in the nose again, drawing blood and too pleased with himself for it. He knew he’d be despising himself for it later but right now, after everything Peter put him through, after Malcolm’s touch gave him strength, Felix reveled in Peter’s pain. The relief was brief, Peter wrapping his hands around Felix’s throat and squeezing tightly, eyes wild and demonic as he strangled him.

A hand came around Peter’s shoulder, stronger and bigger than Rufio’s. Peter fought back at first but froze when he saw his vice principal looking over the hall monitor’s shoulder, glaring at the two of them as he was pried off by the larger man.

“Peter Banning. Felix Forrester. Both of you, in my office, right now,” She hissed, marching back to her office with the hall monitor dragging two boys.

The lecture was bad but having Marilyn and Malcolm in the same room with them was even worse. Marilyn spent her time glaring daggers at her son while Felix remained nonchalant, fingers shaking as he tried his hardest to ignore what was going on, tried to replace everything with memories of last night. His eyes glided over to Malcolm who gave him a reassuring nod before turning back to the vice principal.

“Mr. Banning, we have reason to believe that your son is the one posting up graphic photos of Felix,” The vice principal said, “To respect Felix’s privacy, we will not be sharing these photos with you.”

Marilyn scoffed loudly, not bothering with the act she once did to take Felix home, “Why the hell not? Let me see what my idiot son has gotten himself into.”

The vice principal was puzzled but not surprised, opening her mouth to snap at Felix’s mother before Malcolm piped up, “I would like to see as well. If Felix is alright with this,” He looked to Felix, ready to accept the rejection.

Felix accepted, eyes gliding over to Peter briefly before looking back at his vice principal, nodding. It stung the first time when the lewd photos were displayed in his face, when everyone at school was laughing at the pictures taped up all over the walls. By now, Felix was so accustomed to it, he wasn’t even affected by the latest picture of Felix splattered with Peter’s come.

“That’s not me,” Peter snapped, “I didn’t post those up,” His eyes darted to Felix who remained quiet, neither denying or confirming his claim, “It was probably Felix’s _boyfriend_. How else would he get photos like that?”

Marilyn narrowed her eyes at the remark, watching her son as her painted nails tapped impatiently on the back of his chair. Felix rolled his eyes, huffing, “My boyfriend wouldn’t post something like this up. He loves me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Marilyn hissed under her breath, glaring at Malcolm as she released Felix’s chair and stepping up right at him, “You know my son’s a minor, right? That’s a criminal offense.”

“The only criminal here is you,” Malcolm growled, hands tight against the back of Peter’s chair, “Keep your delusions to yourself.”

“Settle down right now. Both of you,” The vice principal snapped at the parents, looking back at her two students with the same coldness, “This is an ongoing investigation, so we cannot make any conclusions yet. However, the fight you had this morning will not go unpunished,” She gave both boys a quick glance, “We have a zero tolerance policy on violence. You are both suspended for the day.”

Peter growled under his breath, folding his arms and glaring at Felix. The lanky boy did nothing, simply happy from Malcolm’s presence. As they were dismissed, Marilyn simply marched off, returning to work without a care for what his son had gotten himself into. Malcolm remained, standing in front of both his son and Felix, formulating his words carefully.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Peter snapped, folding his arms and looking away, “You’re always siding with Felix.”

“That is not true,” Malcolm said, matching his son’s pose as he spoke, “You promised me you would leave him be if he moved out. I did exactly as you wanted and you forced him to—" He shut his eyes in pain. Peter flinched at the sight, feeling the same sting in his chest, “And you dared to put those photos up.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Peter!” Malcolm snarled, turning his anger towards his son. Felix had never seen Peter retreat, helpless against his father’s rage when he truly took control, “I’ve never been more ashamed of you in my entire life.”

As Felix watched, the tension was beginning to suffocate him. He’d never seen Peter so helpless; he’d never see Malcolm so furious. In the deepest parts of Felix, he couldn’t find any ability to hate Peter, couldn’t find happiness from ripping Malcolm away from his son. Felix reached out, touching Malcolm’s shoulder, pausing his tirade.

“Don’t—”

“I should have never saved you.”

Felix froze, paling as he met Peter’s eyes, mouth dropping open.

Peter maintained his glare, fists tight on either side of him, “I should have left you to die,” Staring at Felix was like staring into a void, watching everything that made him sucked away into the darkness. Since he came back to this timeline and, if he was honest, in his original life, Felix was the center of Peter’s world. His best friend turned outcast that Peter tormented to fill in the space he left behind in his heart. His best friend turned lover when Peter took him in, protected him, nurtured him. Staring at Felix now, after everything they had been through, felt like he had come back in time for nothing at all.

Peter wanted nothing more but to spit poison into Felix’s face, “I hope you get kidnapped and beaten to death, just like you were supposed to.”

Felix’s eyes widened, his voice whining in the back of his throat, the world breaking down around him. He was mouthing words, but no sound was coming out.

Once Felix was silenced, Peter turned back to his father, staring at anything but his eyes to maintain his rage, “Stop pretending to be a ‘good father’ now. You and I both know that before Felix forced his way into our lives, I bullied him for _years_ and you did absolutely nothing,” Peter said, smirking at Felix despite talking to his father, “Remind me again, Felix, didn’t my father tell you to kill yourself?”

Malcolm pressed his lips together tight, fist shaking at his side. Felix couldn’t do a thing, shocked into silence by Peter’s cruel words and stunned by his lover’s pain. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid and now it was playing out in front of him. He watched Malcolm reach forward, grabbing Peter’s arm and yanking him back, expression unreadable but notably _old_. It was the first time Felix had ever seen Malcolm as his age, his youthful joviality gone.

“We’re going home now,” Malcolm said, voice hushed as he dragged Peter forward. He looked over to Felix, trying his best to hide his pain, “I can drive you too.”

Felix knew better than to lock the three of them in a car together for half an hour. He shook his head, tucking his hands into his sweater pocket, “It’s okay. I’ll make my way back on my own.”

Despite the vice principal’s command, Felix remained in school, hiding in the abandoned classroom, leaning against an old podium with his eyes shut. He didn’t mean to cause such chaos. He reached into his bag, taking out the folded napkin where he hid the necklace Peter had given him. It seemed like such a distant memory, Peter and Felix together. He bundled the napkin tight and threw it into the mound of desk pieces and dust in the corner.

The door creaked open. Felix gasped, scrambling to his feet, heart dropping when he spotted Peter at the door, “W-What…” He backed up when Peter approached, unblinking and unreadable, “You went home.”

“I came back,” Peter replied, “You weren’t at the store so I figured you were here.”

The pressure in the air was unbearably heavy. Felix had trouble breathing. His knees buckled when Peter came to close, accidentally falling to his knees in mocking supplication. Peter almost laughed, his fury masked perfectly by amusement.

“You did all this. You ruined everything,” Peter said, leaning down, “I thought saving you would fix things.”

Felix hung his head, trying to shrink himself away. Peter grabbed him by the hair and yanked him backwards, forcing their eyes to meet, “Please. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Shut up! _Shut up!_ ” Peter barked, hurling Felix onto the ground, pacing around him, “Ever since I helped you, things have gotten worse. You cheated on me. You drove my friends away. You ruined my relationship with my father. Now I’m going to get expelled from school, _because of you._ ”

Felix flinched, blame pinned on him once more. It was unbearably unfair and for some reason, that lit a wick in him, “It’s not my fault.”

“How is this not your fault? You’re the one who started all of this when you cheated on me!” Peter growled.

“You tortured me! You _humiliated_ me,” Felix shouted back, stunning Peter as he cast off the numbness, letting that lighted wick in him spark and burn, “I hurt you. I admit that and I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for that. But what you did to me, _nothing warrants that_.”

Felix bared everything to him, his weaknesses, his history, his crooked life, and Peter took it all and used it against him, driving a knife into his heart deeper than anyone else in his life had.

Peter was immovable, spitting poison, “You deserve everything you get.”

Felix scoffed, standing up slowly, “You sound exactly like my mother. Cursing me for everything bad that happened to her,” He let out a venomous laugh, hissing as he spoke, “Whatever you do to me doesn’t matter. I have someone who actually loves me.”

The disgust was evident in Peter’s gaze, “And who is this person? Hm? Is there even someone or is it all in your head? Because I’ve been watching you for a very long time and I’ve never seen this person once in school or at your job.”

Not once did Peter suspect his father to be the culprit; it spoke so many words on the amount of trust he placed upon him, trust that Felix would someday dash to pieces, “You’re such an idiot,” Felix said, biting down on his bottom lip, “I don’t know why I bothered dating you.”

The fist colliding with his cheek was expected. Felix took it, reeling back before launching himself forward with his good leg, tackling Peter onto the ground. Both struck the cement with a hard thump, dazed for a moment before Felix wrestled Peter down, striking him across the chest. Peter retaliated quickly though, still stronger and nimbler despite the progress Felix’s body had made. He shoved Felix onto his side, kicking him into the worn podium before grabbing him by the ankle and yanking him backwards, climbing onto his hips, trying to pin his arms under his legs.

“ _I hate you so much_ ,” Peter snarled, one hand clawing at Felix’s face, fingers digging into his scar, threatening to tear it open. Felix was his salvation, or so he thought, and now Peter was left with nothing. When he couldn’t pin Felix’s hands down, he reached blindly for the discarded cane, ramming it against Felix’s throat.

The anger bubbling in Felix was uncontrollable. Even as he was struggling for air, violent thoughts rampaged Felix’s mind, snuffing out everything else. The sentiment he once shared for Peter, the adoration that stopped him from fighting back, it was as if it never existed in the first place. Instead of trying to lift the cane and free his lungs, Felix’s hands were busy searching the dusty supplies, gripping at whatever he could, _anything to retaliate against Peter._

Peter couldn’t even cry out as pain exploded from the side of his head. He rolled onto the ground, clutching at the right side of his head, shuddering when blood came off warm and wet, dripping down his palm as Felix approached him with a discarded _brick_ in hand. Peter swore under his breath, scrambling away only for Felix to climb onto him, grabbing his collar with his free hand, striking him with the brick once more. Peter caught it but the force was enough to make him recoil, nearly knocking himself out against the hard floor. He whined, pathetic, head lolling to the side as his hands fell limp. Felix looked inhuman, teeth bared, nostrils flared, brick poised above his head.

The last few days were flashing through his mind, all the suffering Peter put him through, worse than before everything had changed. All the beatings, all the humiliation, all the _forced sex_ , feeding into the blaze taking over Felix’s body, “I hate you. I hate you so much!” He screamed, pathetic and vicious, finally in power but _unable to move,_ arm trembling above his head.

Peter opened one eye, head still laying on the side, no energy to fight back. Blood was dripping down his face, something that Felix thought he’d be happy with but all it did was give him misery. Felix swallowed, the blazing heat fading just as quickly as it came, “I hate you. I hate you,” He whined in his throat, vision blurring, lowering his arm and dropping the brick beside him. He collapsed onto Peter’s body and wailed, tears bursting from his eyes finally.

The tension shattered, the tight feeling in the air gone. Peace washed over them, something that hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peter blamed his injury but deep down, he knew better, as he circled his arms around Felix’s body and tucked him under his head, comforting him. The festering lump of spite lodged in his chest seemed to lighten the longer he held Felix close, his tears and warmth dissolving it.

The two were silent even when Felix returned to lucidity, tears mopped away by the sleeve of his sweater as he carefully patched Peter up, dabbing at his injury with cotton and hydrogen peroxide. Peter nearly asked why Felix had a first aid kit with him but figured it out immediately: To treat his own beatings at Peter’s hands. He clicked his tongue, grinding his teeth and frowning.

“…Sorry,” Felix mumbled out at the gesture, figuring that he had done something wrong.

Peter’s gaze snapped to him, “No. It wasn’t you. Just, thinking,” He immediately averted his gaze when Felix looked to him. It was such an abnormal gesture, _fearing Felix_ , “Shit, how did we even come to this?”

Felix shrugged as he sorted through his first aid kit, searching for a bandage that would fit on Peter’s temple securely, “I cheated on you then you retaliated,” He said as if it were obvious. He waved his fingers in front of Peter’s eyes, “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine,” Peter said, pushing his hand away gently, feeling the bandages still wrapped around his once casted arm. He sighed, lowering both hands, “I take it back, okay?” Felix looked puzzled, shooting him an odd look before placing the adhesive bandage carefully on his head, “I don’t hate you.”

Felix’s fingers twitched against his skin. He recoiled slightly, frowning before speaking, “I don’t hate you either.”

“You have every right to,” Peter mumbled out, rubbing at the bandage to secure it as he pulled his legs up, sitting against the podium while Felix packed up his first aid kit, “Everything I did, _god_ , I just couldn’t stop, and it got out of hand and I-I just—”

Felix quelled him, holding up a finger to his lips, “You don’t have to say anything,” He said, lifting his finger, rubbing at it absently, “I hit you with a brick and almost gave you a concussion. I think that makes us even.”

“Not even close. You know that,” Peter said, surprised at how happy he felt being able to talk to Felix like this again, “I’ll get you a new sweater. Or-Or I can post up dirty pictures of myself online. Anything you want,” Peter nearly swooned at the sight of Felix _smiling again_. It made him loathe himself for deteriorating back to his petty ways.

Felix scratched absently at a patch on his jeans as he spoke, still smiling, “A new sweater would be nice.”

Peter really wanted to grab him right now and kiss him, but he knew that would just drive Felix away again. Not once did Peter ever stop loving him; that was why it hurt so badly, why he treated him so poorly, this timeline and the one before, “Whoever you’re seeing right now,” Peter spoke, seeing Felix stiffen briefly, “He’s a lucky person. I hope it works out between you two.”

Felix’s lips fell open again, silver eyes shining as he stared at Peter in almost disbelief. He swallowed the dryness in his throat, nodding to Peter’s words before turning back to his bag, thinking silently before standing up and approaching the stack of dusty supplies. Peter watched him, puzzled as Felix retrieved a crumpled napkin, pulling out the silver necklace hidden inside. Peter gasped, eyes wide, watching Felix put on the necklace again.

“I misplaced it,” Felix mumbled out, picking up his cane and backpack, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

Peter stood quickly, rushing over to him with no malicious intent. Felix remained still, letting Peter throw his arms around him, hugging tight for just a second before backing off and squeezing his forearms pleasantly, “Let’s go shopping tomorrow. We’ll pick out a new sweater together.”

Felix wasn’t ready, not after everything they had gone through, not while he still associated Peter with violence. He couldn’t find the heart to say no, however, so Felix nodded to him with a small smile. He departed first, leaving Peter in the abandoned classroom. Peter honestly hadn’t felt this relieved in so long, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted from his body.

The return home, however, was not nearly as smooth. The shaking of the train car nearly made Peter vomit. He felt nothing when Felix was patching him up, felt nothing when he left the school on his own, yet now, he felt like doubling over in nausea. His head felt like it would burst, the migraine was spreading like cracks on a broken window. His hands glided over the bandage, scratching at it, accidentally pulling it off but seeing no extra blood from when Felix cleaned it up.

When his stop came, Peter stood and immediately veered to the left, stumbling over a businessman and nearly falling flat on the ground. He took a deep breath, standing up slowly, ignoring the concerned statements as he headed out. Someone was trying to speak to him, but Peter couldn’t concentrate long enough to comprehend, the ringing in his ears too loud. He needed to get home _now_.

In his neighbourhood, Peter fell against a fence and threw up watery bile. He rubbed at his eyes, vision blurring. Just barely on the front steps, Peter collapsed on the ground, the world fading to black.

 

“Peter! Peter, please wake up. Peter!” Malcolm’s voice sounded like an echo.

A hand was pressed against his cheek, a firm touch testing for a pulse against his neck. Peter was sluggish to respond, extremities numb. By the time he fought through the atrophy, the hand was no longer there, and Peter opened his eyes to a dimly lit medical office. He blinked twice, letting his eyes focus on the plain white walls and the sterile décor.

Peter recognized the man standing next to him, seeing him several times when he visited Felix at the hospital, “Dr. Whale?”

The man turned to him, snacking idly on a muffin, “Oh. You’re awake. That’s good.”

“Peter!” Malcolm shouted, leaping off from the chair at the end of the bed, taking his son’s hand, “You’ve been out for fifteen minutes. Are you okay? What happened?”

_What happened?_ Reaching into his memories felt like diving into fog. He rubbed idly at the side of his head, feeling a new bandage wrapped over the swollen cut, “Ah. Right,” He choked out, laying back carefully while Dr. Whale checked him over, “I got into a fight with Felix.”

“What? At the house?” Malcolm said, eyes narrowed.

“No. I went back to school to find him,” Peter said, rubbing at his eyes to quell the spinning, “We got into a fight. He hit me with a brick.”

“He attacked you again?” Malcolm said, brows drawn together, biting on his lip nervously.

“It’s nothing,” Peter said, absently rubbing on the other side of his head, “I feel fine.”

Dr. Whale lifted a brow, “You have a concussion,” He put his clipboard aside, “It appears to be minor. I’d recommend rest and ice if it starts to swell. Also, avoid sports for at least a week. I can write up a note for you.”

Deeming him healthy, Peter was released from the hospital. His father led him to the car, hand still around his, guiding him as if he were a child. Peter swatted him away jokingly, climbing into the front seat with a smile, “I’m okay. Really.”

Malcolm sighed, shutting the door before circling the car and sliding into the driver’s seat, “I knew this was going to happen. It was all building up to this.”

“It was just a fight,” Peter said, leaning back in his seat, “Dr. Whale released me. I’m fine.”

“You know, I should be angry at you for everything that’s happened today and sneaking out like that,” Malcolm said, sighing heavily, “But I’m so relieved you’re alright. Being a father is hard.”

Peter shrugged lazily, nudging at his father’s arm, “Maybe you’re just a pushover.”

Stopped at a red light, Malcolm peered over to his son with a irritated look and a raised brow. He smiled briefly, “I get no respect in this household,” He reached over, pulling his son in for a gentle hug and a kiss to the top of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay, alright? Don’t get into anymore trouble.”

“Of course,” Peter replied, shutting his eyes, resting as Malcolm drove off. A thought entered his mind as he relaxed, a flash of blond hair and a scarred face, “Hey Dad?” Malcolm hummed in response, turning down his neighbourhood, “Thanks for taking care of Felix.”

Malcolm tapped his finger against the wheel, glancing over to his son briefly before parking the car in their driveway, “It’s no problem,” He gave Peter’s head a friendly, gentle pat, “Get some rest. I’m going to bring Felix dinner,” He said, gesturing to the lunch box in the backseat, “Beef stew, his favourite,” Malcolm added, punctuating it with a giggle.

Following his father’s command, Peter returned to his room, laying down slowly on the bed after stacking a mound of pillows for his head. He took his phone from his pocket, checking his messages idly till his finger stopped on Felix’s text thread. He waited, finger still hovering over it, before taking a deep breath and pressing it. He texted to him, backing up several times, trying to formulate the most natural sounding words he could think of: _Hows your night?_

Peter couldn’t stop himself from staring at the clock, watching the seconds count by, until his phone buzzed with another message.

_Good._

Peter smiled, eagerly surprised when another text message came in.

_I’m sorry for hitting you. How’s your head?_

Peter hummed pleasantly, the ache in his head already fading: _Also good. Lets eat sushi tomorrow. My treat._

 The response was quick, simple, and it made Peter happier than he’d been for a long time. The serpent smiles and poisonous smirks were simply masks to cover up his grief, a balm to his actual pain. He wondered if this was the first time since the breakup that he was able to smile for real: _Goodnight Felix._

_See you tomorrow._

 

**Friday April 23 rd, 2010**

Peter felt like an idiot, coming in nearly an hour early, standing by Felix’s locker. He had plenty of damage control to do: Cory was disturbed by his treatment of Felix and Simon subsequently followed suit. Nicholas was unbothered, but Thomas recommended him to keep his distance to protect his valedictorian status. This left Rufio, concerned and uncomfortable, but too weak-willed to rebel. Peter hated how quickly things fell back to how they used to be, hated how easy it was for him to slip back into his old self. _Never again_. If not for Felix’s sake, then for his own sake, Peter could not go back to the way he was.

_I don’t buy it. This is another one of those fake change of hearts_

Peter spat, leaning against the locker with an agitated look, “ _Simon_ ,” He hissed, tapping a quick retort on his phone.

As the students started filing in, Peter was able to reach out to each one at Felix’s locker. Rufio was the first, expressing how grateful he was that Peter was done with his cruel games, bowing and thankful before heading to class. Cory came in after which meant Simon was close behind. As Peter expected, Cory was resistant, still shaken from the things Peter had done. Simon was protective, right against him, threatening Peter to back off. Nicholas was the next to approach, cheerfully greeting Peter before skipping off to his morning class.

Thomas was the last to come in, cutting it close to the morning bell, “Back to playing nice?”

“Not playing. Just back to my senses,” Peter said, eyeing Thomas with confusion, “What?”

Thomas shrugged, stepping past him, “Glad you’re done with that.”

The breakup and fallout had created a rift between himself and his friends, but Peter was glad that they were back on speaking terms. He couldn’t even blame them knowing that if he was in their position, he would be just as reluctant. Peter wished he could scour the internet and delete every single photo he had put up of Felix. For now, he could only pray that they would not circulate anymore.

The relief he had gained from speaking to all his friends died suddenly as the students emptied from the halls, teachers entering and pre-emptively preparing their lesson on their blackboards. Peter blinked, leaning against the locker, hearing the bell and subsequent anthem, lingering even after that when the teachers started their lectures.

Felix hadn’t showed up.


	4. Love and Dread

**Friday April 23 rd, 2010**

Peter didn’t wait for Felix to answer the text message. The moment lunch period started, he ditched school and made his way to the convenience store. He burst in, surprising his father who was at the counter. Peter paid him no mind, rushing into the backroom and shoving the door open, seeing the mattress and other miscellaneous belongings scattered amongst the floor.

“Whoa, whoa, hey! You can’t go in there!” Malcolm exclaimed, rushing in and grabbing his son’s arm, “What’s going on?”

Peter pulled away, scrambling around, digging through blankets and bags, unable to find Felix or his backpack, “Where’s Felix?”

“He went to school this morning,” Malcolm replied.

“Did you see him leave?” Peter said, rushing over to his father, grabbing his jacket, “Did you see him when you came in to work?”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious, “No. I just assumed,” He caught his son, frightened by the tremble in his fingers, “Hey, hey. It’s going to be okay. He probably just took the day off.”

“No. He wouldn’t, not right now,” Peter said, “Not after yesterday. We were going to try patching things up. He wouldn’t just leave after that.”

“Calm down, calm down, just breathe,” Malcolm said, holding his son still, sitting him down on the couch, “We’ll find him, okay? It’s probably just like last time. He just needed a break or something. Everything is going to be okay.”

Driving his son back to school, Peter quickly rounded everyone up on a text message, calling them all to the basement after class. To his surprise, Cory was there, standing behind Simon who glared at Peter as he walked by.

“What did you do this time?” Simon asked, folding his arms.

Peter had to remember his story, had to convince them to help, “Felix and I got into a fight yesterday. As you can see,” He gestured to the bandage on his face, “We were supposed to talk it out today, break bread, but he didn’t show up for class. My father told me left for school this morning, but he never made it there,” He clenched his fists, “We need to look for him. He might’ve gotten into something dangerous.”

Peter expected fanfare, planning, just as they had when they were protecting Felix from his family. Instead, the boys simply stared at him with the same spiteful indifference Simon had perfected. He swallowed, unnerved.

“You sure you didn’t just scare him off?” Simon remarked, “Or maybe he went and killed himself after everything you did.”

Cory stepped forward, grabbing Simon’s arm, pulling him back, “S-Stop. Don’t talk about that.”

Simon relented, backing off, looking to Thomas and Nicholas.

“Just give him a day, he’s probably just spending time with his boyfriend,” Thomas said, chewing on a piece of gum lazily, “I think he deserves that much.”

Peter huffed loudly, exasperated but sympathetic. He looked to Rufio, pleading him with his eyes, begging him to jumpstart their mission. His usually charismatic friend was without words, shaking his head, answering Peter with the same reluctance his cruelty cultivated.

It wasn’t ideal but Peter relented, following their suggestion, sitting in the backroom on Felix’s mattress waiting patiently as he did his homework. Peter tried calling Michael, knowing that he would jump to action, but the call went to voicemail. Similarly, Neal’s did the same just as it did the first time he called him.

Malcolm peered into the backroom, “It’ll probably be easier if you sat at the desk.”

Peter shook his head, adamantly remaining on the mattress as he scribbled away at an assignment, “The bed smells nice, smells like Felix,” He sniffed the air tentatively, “I didn’t know he wore cologne.”

Malcolm raised a brow, “That’s not cologne. It’s aftershave.”

“Felix doesn’t shave,” Peter remarked, noting how even he had a couple stray hairs on his chin while Felix couldn’t grow a single hair on his jaw. Malcolm flinched, eyes wide suddenly, fearing he almost gave himself away before Peter continued, “Ah. His boyfriend,” He put his pencil down, head darting up, “Wait. You’ve seen his boyfriend.”

Malcolm fought to ignore the sweat beading down the back of his neck, “Yeah. He comes to visit sometimes. Stays the night too, occasionally. Handsome fellow.”

Peter was on his feet in an instant, charging up right to his father, pouting, “Who is he? Tell me everything you know about him. Right now.”

More sweat, now soaking the inside of his shirt slightly. Malcolm hummed, sighing loudly to hide his nervousness, “Well, his name’s Colin. He’s one of the morning clerks,” He cleared his throat, “Or rather, he used to be. He quit a while back. He was a nice guy, older, brown hair, bit of scruff.”

“Brown hair and scruff?” Peter said, eyeing his father’s face intently.

Malcolm twisted away, casually pacing, “Speaking of morning clerks, it’s possible one of them saw him leave this morning.”

Successfully derailed, Peter made his way over to the cashier with his father where the employee registry was key, “Let’s see it.”

“Hold on, let me check,” Malcolm said, opening the cupboard under the cash register and pulling out the employee registry, “Let’s see… Looks like Leroy was in the morning today. Odd, that guy hates mornings,” He slid the catalogue over to Peter, “He’s probably at the bar now so he’ll probably answer his cellphone.”

Peter nodded in acknowledgement, making the call in the backroom. Leroy was gruff, obviously drunk, but lucid enough to give him an answer. Peter put the phone down, punching the desk suddenly. Malcolm was at his side in an instant, waiting for Leroy’s story, “He said Felix wasn’t in the backroom when he came in.”

“W-wait, don’t panic,” Malcolm said, reaching out to his son who immediately dove back to Felix’s burrow in the backroom, searching through his things, “I’m sure he’s heading back right now. And if he’s not back, we’ll call the cops tomorrow morning, first thing.”

Peter couldn’t hear a word his father was saying, too busy digging through Felix’s things. His backpack was gone as were his usual school books. Peter noted several library books missing, a reasonable amount to bring to school to enjoy during downtime. His hands paused as it glided over something waxy. Peter shut his eyes, cringing when he pulled out the ruined sweater, paint hardened and chipping. He sighed, stuffing it back under the couch, continuing his search.

“What are you looking for?” Malcolm asked, kneeling, shining a flashlight under the couch while Peter searched blindly.

“Clues. Inconsistencies. Why would Felix go to class that early?” Peter stopped, biting the inside of his cheek, remembering that he wound up at the school an hour early to meet Felix. It would not have been unreasonable to think that Felix was just as eager, “N-Nevermind. He probably _is_ with his boyfriend.”

Malcolm hummed, making an awkward sound as he contemplated the thought, “Ah. I don’t think Felix would be there,” He met Peter’s look, catching the tilt in his head, the contemplating look in his eyes, “I mean, Colin’s a busy guy. And, uh, he wouldn’t be able to spend all that time with Felix.”

“Oh my god,” Peter gasped out, eyes widening, jaw dropping, “It was you.”

“W-What? No. Not at all. That’s crazy talk,” Malcolm stuttered, hands up in supplication, eyes darting from side-to-side, “I’m old enough to be his father! And-uh, and…you don’t believe me in the slightest, do you?”

Pete promptly answered Malcolm’s question with a fist to the nose.

Malcolm yelped, reeling and stumbling backwards, hand on his face, “What the hell, Peter!”

“What the hell yourself!” Peter shouted, hands to his side, clearly no longer violent but still furious, “You stole my boyfriend!” _God,_ it was so painfully obvious now, all their intimacy during Marilyn’s reign of terror, Felix’s obvious crush on him, _the way Marilyn preyed on his obvious affection._ Peter cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, blinded by his love for both Felix and Malcolm.

“I’m sorry. It just happened and I tried to stop,” Malcolm said, hands clasped together again for supplication, “I’ve been single for so long and Felix was _always there_ and he reciprocated—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Peter said, ignoring a stray customer who promptly exited the store at the sight of them fighting, “Why keep it a secret?”

Malcolm thought the answer was obvious, “Felix told me to,” The insult on Peter’s tongue stopped, swallowed back, “He said it would only hurt you more if you knew.”

It was something Peter couldn’t deny. If he learned that the two people he loved most in the world betrayed him, Peter probably would’ve sunken further than he died, probably would’ve turned his hand against his lover and his father. He sighed, scraping his hands over his face, willing himself to calm down. All those times he threatened Felix, tried to blackmail him into revealing the truth, and Felix withheld it just to protect him.

Peter’s hands stopped on his jaw, lips slipping open, horror and disgust on his face, “You had sex with Felix?”

“Oh shit,” Malcolm mumbled out, letting his son grab his collar and shove him into the shelves behind the counter, “Only once!”

“I cannot _believe_ you,” Peter growled out, releasing his father, concerning himself with more pressing matters. He knew when Felix had sex, knew it was after Peter drove him into a corner, knew it was probably out of comfort and desperation. He was just as responsible for making his father a criminal as his father was, “I just— _fuck,_ I don’t even know what to say,” He circled around, putting the counter between himself and his father, folding his arms to hide the tremble, “I’ll be pissed at you later. Right now, I just want to find Felix.”

“Have you tried giving him a call?” Malcolm asked, fixing his shirt absently, adjusting the nametag, “He didn’t leave his phone behind.”

“Several times,” Peter remarked, checking the multitude of text messages he sent and calls he made.

It wouldn’t hurt to try again and again. This was what Peter spent the rest of his time doing, sitting in the backroom on the mattress after rushing through his homework, calling again and again, going to voicemail every single time. It wasn’t like Felix, especially after they made up.

_“Or maybe he went and killed himself after everything you did.”_

Peter’s finger slipped on the phone, nail scraping against the screen. _Felix wouldn’t,_ would he? It wasn’t impossible for their reconciliation having the opposite effect, driving Felix into undeserved guilt, driving him to end his life as recompense; this time, Michael Darling wasn’t there to stop him. Bile bubbled in the back of his throat at the thought, tears welling in his eyes. Peter felt like a damn fool, knowing that all his actions were pushing Felix back onto that edge he was once perched on yet doing it all anyway for petty satisfaction. _He’d fix things. He promised._ But he needed to find Felix first.

Finally, after hours of calling, _the phone clicked._ Peter gasped, “Felix?” He shouted, leaping to his feet, knuckles white around the phone.

“What? Who is this?” The voice was unfamiliar.

Peter narrowed his eyes, “I should be the one asking that question. Who the hell are you and why do you have Felix’s phone?”

“I found it in a backpack. It was thrown out here.”

_Thrown out?_ Peter blinked, grabbing his stuff, stepping out from the backroom, “I’m coming over to pick that up. Where are you right now?”

“Ah, sure. Nothing of value in here anyway. This is the Storybrooke _junkyard_.”

The memory was still vivid, colours vibrant and violent, Felix’s skin purple from where his arm stuck out from the tarp, Mikey’s eyes brutally silver like a sharp blade. Peter was shaking, nodding, lips tightly pressed together as he marched out the backdoor, _not alerting his father in the store._ He ran back home, climbing over the gate into the backyard where a former flower bed once lay. With his hands, he dug through it, sucking in a deep breath when he spotted the plastic bag at the bottom. Long ago, Rufio had him swear to never unearth this unless something dire happened. Peter hoped he hadn’t broken their promise as he dug the bag out, reaching into it for the gun he had received from the Darlings. He leaned against the fence, taking even breaths, remembering everything he did to calm himself back when he nearly killed Marilyn. It would do him no good to wield a gun with a head of steam.

_He would never fire the gun at a person. He would never take a life or injure someone. This was just for leverage, just for threats._ Peter held it against his forehead, swearing by his rules, muttering them like a prayer before breaking off and returning to the convenience store.

“The junkyard?” Malcolm said, slowing down as he made a turn, “Why are we here?”

“Someone picked up Felix’s phone. It must have been someone working at the junkyard,” Peter’s finger tapped anxiously against the door, sweating when he saw the junkyard sign pass by them. He nearly leapt out of the car when it slowed, running over to the junkyard attendant who greeted him nonchalantly.

The man placed a black backpack in front of him, “This is it. Found it jammed into one of the cars on the way to the compactor.”

Without a doubt, this was Felix’s backpack. Peter didn’t even need to look inside, seeing the familiar tears and worn-down fabric. He thanked the man, bringing it back into the car and emptying it in the backseats while Malcolm watched from the driver’s seat. Felix’s usual school books were inside as were the missing novels Peter had spied. He reached into the pockets, finding a thin wallet and a set of keys with the convenience store logo plastered on.

“Here,” Malcolm said, reaching into the side pocket, taking out Felix’s phone, “He keeps it there, so he can reach for it easily.”

Peter took it from his hands, silent as he turned it on and searched through it, seeing all his missed calls and unanswered text messages. The last time Felix responded was last night, agreeing to spend time with Peter. There was nothing else to indicate he was speaking with anyone else, anyone malicious.

“What’s on your mind?” Malcolm said, tapping idly at his wheel, “You think it’s the same person from your timeline?”

It was different, clearly. There was nothing remarking Felix’s belongings being discovered in a junkyard. Time had passed though, new people getting involved with Felix’s life, _new suspects_. Mikey had an alibi in the first timeline but he very well could have returned to assist his sister with the death and disposal. _Or it could have been the Darlings_ , the two allies he had into that suspicious family mysteriously disappearing.

“We need to tell the sheriff,” Peter said, his words betraying none of his true motive.

 

**Saturday April 24 th, 2010**

Peter missed the buzz of his phone but figured it was one of the Lost Boys texting him. He was too busy digging into his closet, looking for the police report he had taken with him into this timeline. He once thought this trial was over but it resurfaced in the worse time possible, when Felix and Peter had broken apart and had just barely reconciled. He opened the bottom drawer, smiling when he spotted the folder. Yanking it out, a photo of Felix’s desecrated body slipped out, making Peter reel and nearly vomit. He released it, shutting his eyes tight, whining in horror.

This grisly fate could not come to be. Peter would do anything in the world to stop it.

 “I found it,” Malcolm said, bringing in the corkboard where they originally studied and theorized Felix’s murder but ultimately ended up with nothing, “Anything new to put on?”

Peter nodded, lifting several post-its from his laptop. He stuck one under Felix’s photo, “His backpack, thrown away at the junkyard,” He folded his arms, placing the second one under Mikey’s title, “The junkyard was where he tried to ditch Felix the first time.”

“He wasn’t in town in your first replay though?” Malcolm said, leaning back in Peter’s chair with his legs crossed, “If it’s the same person, he wouldn’t fit.”

“He does. If Marilyn was the killer,” Peter said, trying not to spit at her name, “First time around, she tortures him to death, hides the body her way. Second time around, she gets Mikey to help her now that he has a vendetta.”

“Your theory hinges on Mikey actually being in Storybrooke,” Malcolm said, “And if he isn’t?”

Peter had other suspects, other theories, “I’ll figure it out,” His breath hitched when his father stood, “W-Where are you going? Aren’t you going to help me?”

Malcolm snorted, brow raised, “Damn right I’m going to help you save Felix. We’re going to Marilyn’s apartment right now, unless you want to do something stealthier.”

Peter wanted to do the exact opposite, the gun heavy in his backpack, but his father would never allow this. No matter, with the Lost Boys back in, he could find Marilyn and press her for answers another time.

Peter nodded, standing to his feet, taking his bag with him, “Let’s go then.”

The smile on Malcolm was obnoxious and improper for their current mood but it helped Peter lighten up anyway until his father spoke, “I’ve got to save my _boyfriend_ , don’t I?”

“I hate you so much,” Peter hissed, eyes narrowed with derision, “I’m still mad. Don’t forget that.”

“I know. Just wanted to stop you from fixating on this,” Malcolm said, softening his gaze, pulling Peter’s head into the crook of his neck for a hug, “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

The anger didn’t last long against his father. Peter fell back into routine, sitting in Malcolm’s car, driving over to Marilyn’s apartment. He glanced at his father idly, “Hey Dad,” The words made Malcolm light up immediately, “What are we going to do if Marilyn really did kill Felix?”

“Turn her into the cops. Get her to confess where she’s keeping him. We’re not doing what you did to Mikey,” Malcolm said, turning down the street, “And yes, I said ‘keeping’, because Felix is not dead. We’re going to find him.”

“Right,” Peter responded, clutching his bag tighter.

When they finally reached the apartment complex and parked their car, Peter immediately noted something off. The door was ajar but that was nothing out of the ordinary. What struck Peter was how barren the place had become, emphasized by unkempt trash littered all over.

“This place is a pigsty,” Malcolm said, groaning as he turned on a flashlight, aiming it at the ceiling, “Lightbulbs are gone?”

“Everything is gone,” Peter replied, following suit with a flashlight of his own.

The couch was there as was the coffee table but the TV was gone as were the snacks stacked on the shelves. He stepped into the back hall, grimacing at the telltale nicks and scrapes of the metal bat Mikey had used to assault Felix. The kitchen contained only perishables. Cutlery, pots and pans, all of that was gone.

“Bedroom is cleared of goods too,” Malcolm said, checking what appeared to be a jewelry shelf and finding it barren, “No clothes, no money.”

“She ran,” Peter said, swallowing, peering down into the sink and finding a chain lodged in the garbage disposal, “Wait. I see something,” He reached for it with his bare hands and was immediately reprimanded, getting yanked back suddenly.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Malcolm exclaimed, opening up the cupboard beneath and deactivating the garbage disposal before wrestling the chain out from underneath, breaking one of the links when it wouldn’t budge, “Here. It’s—”

Peter swallowed, knowing exactly what it was, still vividly seeing Felix donning the necklace, the symbol of a friendship briefly repaired. He punched the wall, growling, “She ran.”

“She couldn’t have gotten far. She left her truck outside,” Malcolm said, taking his son’s hand, “We need to go. This could very well be a crime scene right now,” He cursed the necklace, realizing he had taken out and effectively compromised it as proof, “Shit. We need to bring this to the cops. We don’t want this to end up like Felix’s father’s ring.”

Peter wanted to keep sulking, wanted to tear this awful place apart, but he relented. He followed his father back to the car, letting him drop his son off at home while he reported to the police. Malcolm tried to convince him to do homework or reading, anything to get his mind off this until he was ready to dive back in. All Peter could do was lay in the guest room, hands pressed to his eyes, trying his best not to think of the worst-case scenario.

In the last timeline, Felix was tortured for three weeks before he died. If this was the same person, if this was the same motive, Peter decided that was how much time he had to save him. It was his hard deadline, something he couldn’t afford to pass. He sat up slowly, reinvigorated, nearly leaping off his bed until he heard a window break downstairs.

Peter swallowed, on edge immediately, one hand trembling. He opened the door slowly, seeing a shadow moving in the kitchen. Peter clutched at his throat suddenly, the phantom pain of a blade slicing it open crippling him. He took a step forward, floorboards creaking, shadow suddenly moving. Peter bolted immediately, rushing into his room as he heard steps charging up, too heavy to be Felix.

“Sh-Shit!” Peter shouted, just barely getting the gun out of its holster before _Mikey_ tackled him down. Peter couldn’t hear what he was shouting, too desperate as he blocked the fists raining down on him. He growled, using a well-placed kick to his ribs to drive him back.

Mikey snarled, spitting, “Son of a bitch!” He made to charge again, trying to scramble to his feet, only to find _a gun_ pressed right at his chin, Peter’s eyes inhumanly dark. Mikey reduced to a stuttering mess immediately, scrambling backwards, “W-What the fuck. What the fucking—” He lifted his hands, pressed up against the wall as Peter rose, gun pointed at him, blinding fury in his eyes, “Fuck! I give up!”

Peter could kill him now, give him what he deserved for everything he had done to Felix. He needed him however, to answer questions that Marilyn couldn’t, “Where is Felix?”

“Fuck if I know,” Mikey retorted, “That little shit disappeared on his own.”

Peter had no idea how effective _slapping Mikey with the gun_ was, but he’d seen enough movies to know how good it felt. Mikey reeled but returned, snarling but helpless, “Answer the goddamn question.”

“I did! I have no idea where that brat is,” Mikey snarled.

“Then why are you here?”

“Marilyn said she was in trouble,” Mikey said, teeth bared as he spoke, “Believe me, I wouldn’t come back to this shit hole otherwise,” His eyes searched the room, huffing when he found nothing out of the ordinary, “I thought you were keeping that brat here, playing your stupid games like you did with me at the junkyard.”

Peter rolled his eyes in disgust, “I should’ve broke your head open in that junkyard,” He tilted his head, curious at Mikey’s words, “What kind of trouble?”

Mikey scoffed, growling under his breath, clearly resistant to answering but still terrified of the gun, “She’s getting set up. Exactly what you wanted, right?” He poked his head up suddenly, licking his lips, “Hey Felix! You hear that? You’re getting exactly what you wanted. Driving your mommy out of here, that feel good, you ungrateful fag?”

Peter struck Mikey out of reflex, making sure he split skin with his gun, “Stop playing around. You ditched Felix’s bag in the junkyard. It’s got your handiwork all over it.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Mikey retorted, spitting a spot of blood onto the floor, “You’re fucking delusional.”

Desperate, Peter cocked the gun, seeing Mikey whiten at the sound, his wild expression faltering for the first time Peter had ever seen, “Tell me where Felix is or I will shoot you through the head.”

“L-Look, man, I really don’t know,” Mikey said, trembling throughout his body now, stuttering just like Felix did when he was terrified, “Shit. I don’t know! I really don’t fucking know.”

“Where’s Marilyn hiding?” Peter asked instead.

Mikey swallowed, blurting out the truth without any resistance, “Sh-She’s at the construction site for that new apartment going up. Felix is _not_ there, I swear. We got nothing to do with it.”

The insistence and terror in Mikey’s eyes were infuriating, implying _innocence._ Peter growled in the back of his throat, tearing away from it, refusing to soften. He let the man go, watching him snivel and run off like a terrified hound. Using the skill, he had picked up from Neal, Peter followed him closely, stalking him throughout the town till he reached the construction site, just as Mikey said.

Marilyn stepped out from the office when he approached, embracing her brother, both speaking briefly before Mikey took her by the wrist, dragging her off, climbing into his pickup truck before disappearing. Peter was…confused, thinking there’d be more to their conversation, something about how Peter held a gun to his face.

Absently, Peter peered into the construction site, seeing that the foundation had been completed and they were already installing the floors. The hardened concrete gave him an odd feeling, an almost nostalgic feeling. _That’s right_. Marilyn was an accessory to murder before, the murder of her husband. When it came time to ditch his body, she was the one who handled it, _dumping it into a construction site_ , filling it with concrete, obscuring it in the way she knew best. It was a technique that worked to this day, her husband undiscovered for years. This was a contrast to Mikey who tried to stuff Felix’s body into a junkyard without any sort of finesse or strategy.

In his timeline, Felix was butchered to better hide the parts, tossed into a well far from the city, his discovery well past the time of his death washing away all clues of his killer. Peter reeled at the realization, collapsing against a wall, hands shaking as he dropped his bag.

The modus operandi was incorrect. The way Felix’s body was dumped didn’t match.

 

**Sunday April 25 th, 2010**

“…The police are on the lookout for Marilyn Forrester who disappeared shortly after the announcement of her son—”

Peter muted the TV, tossing his arm back over his face as he lay on the couch, mind buzzing too loudly, keeping him up all night. His father was speaking to him but Peter couldn’t concentrate, letting it meld into the white noise of sizzling bacon. He rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into the throw cushion, piecing everything together too cleanly in his head.

_Marilyn Forrester hid her husband’s body in a construction site, buried under cement._

_Mikey Forrester tried to hide Felix’s body in the junkyard._

Peter didn’t want to believe this, wanted to think Felix’s safety would be assured once Marilyn was apprehended, but it wasn’t adding up and it drove him crazy. Absently, Peter selected Neal’s number on his phone, setting it to speaker so he could listen to the dial tone for a minute before the voice mail message played.

Peter held the phone to his lips, “Neal. Something bad has happened. We need you. Thanks,” He said, monotone and lazy, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

“Come on, I made breakfast,” Malcolm said, leaning over the couch, “You could use some food.”

“Not hungry,” Peter grumbled, curling up. He rolled towards the couch when Malcolm placed the plate in front of him, determined to make things as hard as he could for his father.

Malcolm responded by shoving Peter’s legs off the couch, sitting down beside him, “They’ll catch Marilyn and Mikey. They’ll find Felix. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not Marilyn or Mikey behind this,” Peter said, “It just doesn’t add up.”

“You’re overthinking this. Who else could it be?” Malcolm said, “I know Felix’s isn’t popular but who else would have such malicious intent against him?”

_The Darlings_? Peter couldn’t let Malcolm know, wasn’t sure if he was aware of Felix’s association with them. While his work was mostly innocent, he knew Mr. Darling’s terrible secret, one that Michael Darling threatened him with should he reveal it to the world. If they wanted Felix dead, Peter figured they would have done it earlier. It didn’t rule them out however since it was just as his father said: Who would have malicious intent against Felix?

 “When we get Felix back, we should take him out somewhere,” Malcolm said, matching Peter’s smile. He leaned in, scooping Peter up, hanging onto him tightly, “We’ll get him back. I swear it. And we’ll have another big party.”

It was just as hopeless when Mikey took him away. Peter had to believe this would resolve itself just as it did before, “Thanks Dad.”

The arm around Peter’s shoulders suddenly tightened, clinging to him in a headlock as Malcolm snickered and ruffled Peter’s hair, “Maybe I’ll go on a _real_ date with him too. Movie. Steak dinner. Chocolates. Cake,” He laughed when a pillow struck him in the face, “Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll just spend some time bonding with his friends.”

“Exactly. Lots of bonding,” Peter said, laying against his father, grabbing a piece of bacon off the plate and chomping on it. He flinched when he reached for another piece, hearing his phone vibrating against the table. He took it off the table, gasping, rushing up the stairs to take the call, “Be right back,” He shouted to his father, shutting the door and answering the phone, “ _Neal_?”

“I can’t talk for long. What happened?”

_Priorities, priorities_ , Peter wet his lips, “Felix went missing. We found his bag in the junkyard, his necklace in Marilyn’s house.”

“Let me guess: They ran away and you need my help?”

“N-No. I mean, yes, they disappeared. I just don’t think its them,” Peter said, understanding Neal’s perplexed silence, “If the Darlings had something to do with it, you’d tell me, right?”

The silence continued. Peter feared for the worst, sitting down on the bed, just waiting, “They have nothing to do with this.”

“I have your word?” Peter said, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He could hear Neal muffle a chuckle, “We are not the freaking mob,” There was a shuffle behind him, “I have to go.”

“W-Wait, it would really help if you—” Peter’s words caught in his throat when he heard the phone click, a tone following up shortly after. He fell backwards onto the bed, sweeping a hand over his eyes, rubbing at the creases between his brows.

The phone was vibrating again. Peter lifted it to his eyes, squinting in confusion as the name flashing on the screen, “Simon?” He tried not to let the disgust or confusion bleed through.

“Uh, hey,” Simon’s voice was even on the phone, “I know things aren’t good between us, but Cory said I should reach out or something.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Alright. Thanks for the concern, bye.”

“Wait! Wait! Look, the rest of the boys are ready to do something if you are. Cory talked to everyone because he felt bad or something,” Simon said, huffing, cursing under his breath, “And like, I’m, you know. All the stuff I said. It’s like…water under the bridge, right?”

“You really are a master of words, Simon.”

“Shut up. What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry.”

Lifetimes ago, Peter would have never even considered apologizing for things he said, not even to people he liked. With everything he had gone through, it felt like the only thing he could do, “Thanks. I’ll call you later.”

As much as he appreciated having backup, Peter needed a moment to himself. The feeling of helplessness was sinking in again, but Peter couldn’t let it take over, couldn’t let it convince him to do something stupid like it did last time. The police could handle Marilyn and her pitiable attempt to escape. Peter had to concentrate on his strengths, his advantages. His eyes darted to the police report on his desk. He unconsciously reached for it, spreading it across the table, processing everything with a more tempered mind.

_BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA._

Tortured for two weeks; signs of restraint evident. _His killer was malicious, wanted him to suffer_.

Body butchered and discarded in a well, discovered by a hiker long after his death.

Site of containment not found.

Weapon found in Marilyn Forrester’s possession. _Easton Steel Bat_ , poorly kept.

Peter paused on that photo, lifting it to the light. Images of Mr. Darling’s steel bat and Mikey’s similar metal bat came to mind. Easton had gone out of business which meant these bats were uncommon, leaving them in the hands of collectors or in junkyards waiting for recycling. _Or schools with old supplies_ , if the bats held up, it wasn’t unreasonable for a school to hang onto them.

Was that his only way forward? Searching through every school for an Easton Steel Bat? Looking up baseball enthusiasts in Storybrooke? There had to be a more elegant way through this. Peter needed a strategist, needed more heads in on this.

Peter picked up his phone, dialing up the boys, “Time to live up to your promise, Simon.”

 

“Ohh, nachos!” Nicholas chirped, eagerly dashing into the room and straight to the bowl of nachos and dip on the coffee table, “Darn, where’s Cory? There’s no way he got here later than me.”

“He’s babysitting today,” Simon said, “Told me to relay things to him.”

Perched on the billiard table, Peter gave an absent shrug, “We did a soft start. Just went through everything that’s happened. Also, a quick thank you to Rufio for lending us his rec room.”

“No problem. No one ever uses it anyway,” Rufio said, nibbling on a nacho idly.

“I don’t understand,” Thomas said, splayed out on the couch, “The cops said his mother was the prime suspect and to be honest, I can see it happening.”

It was an uphill battle but Peter had to push, had to convince them without making them think he was hopelessly stubborn, “Mikey was at my house. I put a gun to his head and asked him about Felix; he said he didn’t know anything.”

“Could just be a good liar,” Thomas said, “Or maybe he knows nothing. Marilyn just kept it to herself.”

Nicholas pointed to Thomas, mouth stuffed full of food, “Or maybe he thought telling the truth would be worse for him. You waving a gun at him and all.”

“Are we just going to ignore that you pulled a _gun_ on him?” Rufio said, with a disgruntled gesture, “Shit, I thought you got rid of that.”

“It was an emergency thing!” Peter shouted, folding his arms, “I didn’t think I’d ever need it again.”

“Hold up everyone,” Simon said, standing up and wandering between everyone, hands up to show his innocent intent, “We could spend hours talking about _morality_ or whatever the heck Nicholas talks about. How about we get straight to the point?”

Thomas leaned over Nicholas’s head, “He just wants to get back to Cory,” Nicholas and Simon reacted with a snicker and a glare respectively.

“Anyway, _Peter_ ,” Simon said, directing everyone’s attention back to the rightful leader, “What’s our plan?”

This was something he did all the time but right now, with everything on the line, Peter had never felt so nervous. He opened his mouth, mind spinning his lies, “I need you to look into Easton Steel Bats,” The boys gave him a collective confused look, “I know. It’s random, but it’s important. When I found Felix’s discarded bag, there was an Easton-brand steel bat there, bent in the middle with blood. If I had to guess, I’d say they were connected,” Rufio gave him a tentative look before backing off, stepping out of the room.

“Mikey had a bat, didn’t he?” Thomas said, “I mean, we saw what he did to Felix.”

“Not an Easton Bat. They were high quality bats and the company that made them went out of business making them either collector’s items or junk,” Peter said, “If we find the owner of that bat, we find the killer.”

Nicholas lifted a hand, “Whoa, stop, we don’t know if Felix is dead yet. Don’t be so grim.”

“Can we get a picture of this bat? Or maybe a logo?” Simon commented, reclining on the couch, “Something to start on would be nice.”

“I can do you one better,” Rufio said, coming in and tossing a metal bat Peter’s way.

Peter caught it, sputtering, “W-What the hell?”

Nicholas leapt to his feet, “Whoa, man, why do you have the murder weapon?”

“It’s _not_. Just, sit back down,” Thomas remarked, hand on Nicholas’s shoulder as he lowered him back to the carpet.

The logo, the shape of it, this was unmistakably identical to the bat in Mr. Darling’s office and the murder weapon. He ran his fingers over the tip, seeing the scrawl of a signature, “Where did you get this?” Peter asked.

“It was a gift from work, according to my mother. Everyone working for the Darlings got one autographed by their favourite baseball player, or the CEO if they don’t like baseball,” Rufio commented, smile dropping at Peter’s sudden sullenness, “What’s up?”

Peter collected himself, tossing the bat over to Simon who proceeded to examine it, “How’d they acquire so many bats?”

Rufio shrugged, “Beats me. I wouldn’t be surprised if they bought up the leftover inventory. They’re rich.”

Simon shrugged as he scrolled through the browser on his phone, “Doesn’t say on Google.”

“Can we get someone to look into that? That is very important,” Peter said, nodding to Simon who proceeded to text Cory with his new mission, “And if he donated them anywhere. That’s important too.”

“Cory will do it. He loves doing all the boring work,” Simon remarked, grimacing in disgust while his eyes were filled with mirth.

Peter snorted, “Why don’t you just propose to him already?” Technically, he _did_ in the future.

Simon didn’t foam with anger, surprising everyone in the room with him. He simply smiled at Peter, full of pride, “You’re just jealous.”

“Ugh, I’m over it,” Peter snapped, movements jerky as he leapt off the billiard table and tried to casually pace. But if Felix happened to fall back in love with him after a daring rescue, Peter would not protest in the slightest.

Their war room eventually turned back into the rec room it was, the boys tossing around drinks and snacks as they prattled on in leisure. Peter was still on edge, mind still churning with thoughts, but he stayed around anyway. If anything, he needed to boost his own morale before returning home to his father. Despite making up with Malcolm, Felix’s relationship had created an indefinite rift between them, something Peter figured would last even after Felix was safe.

“So, you ever figure out who Felix was dating?” Thomas asked, tone implying simple curiosity.

Peter popped open a can of coke, catching the foam, delaying his answer purposely, “Ah, just one of the clerks that worked at the convenience store. Older guy called Colin.”

Nicholas hummed, “Oh. Could’ve sworn he was seeing your father,” Peter and Simon promptly spat out their drinks, expression incredulous for completely distinct reasons, “Wasn’t it obvious?”

 

**Monday April 26 th, 2010**

_How do you even get to conclusions like this?_

_Observation, doi_

_Remember when Felix got released from the hospital and Peter’s dad tried to stop Peter from joining them for lunch? Rufio can vouch_

_Don’t pull me into this. Keep your fanfiction to yourself_

_Its friend-fiction! ;)_

_Hell I ship it._

Peter shut off his phone, shaking his head in annoyance. This was _not_ obvious; Nicholas’s imagination was just disturbingly accurate. He switched back to his thread with Cory, seeing a couple conclusions he had come to.  While there was no confirmation, the Darlings had participated in an auction when Easton went out of business, no doubt purchasing the large inventory of metal bats.

As for the distribution of bats, it was well known within the business circle that the Darlings hand out signed metal bats to employees working longer than three years. _Signed bats_ , which the murder weapon clearly lacked. This left the other avenue of distribution: Donations.

“As you know, the Darlings are a rather philanthropic family,” Cory said, explaining his research while the boys eat their lunch around him, “They’ve made donations everywhere in the city: Parks, community centres, schools; you name it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any records on _what_ they donated but if its vast quantities of baseball bats, my guess is schools or community centres.”

Peter hid his displeasure with a smile. He needed more details, couldn’t just brute force this into working, “Got a list by any chance?”

“Yeah, but I can’t say its complete. Its just whatever I could scrape from the newspaper archives,” Cory said, ducking his head when Peter visibly frowned at his words, “S-Sorry.”

“I thought it was good,” Simon remarked, “For an amateur.”

Cory rolled his eyes, leaning into Simon’s space, _too close_ , “Your comments are always appreciated, Simon,” He pulled away, smiling inwardly at the clear disappointment on Simon’s expression, “If you want more on the Darlings, you probably need to go straight to the source.”

“I’ve been trying. Neal and Michael haven’t been answering my calls at all,” Peter said, waving his phone, “I’ve tried Wendy Darling too. She hasn’t said a word either.”

“Weird,” Rufio said, “I mean, weird that they aren’t answering but also weird that you have a direct link to the richest family in Storybrooke.”

Peter took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly, “It’s a very long story. I don’t know if Felix wants me sharing this.”

“When he’s back, we’ll ask him!” Nicholas said, toothy grin on his face, so disturbing reassuring.

When the boys disbanded for class, Peter lingered behind with Rufio, fingers flexing on the hem of his shirt, perched up on a desk while Rufio remained beside him against a wall. Confidence fading, Peter leaned his head back, thinking about how he used to crane his neck up to meet Felix’s eyes and how he hadn’t done that in a while, “Hey, Rufio?”

“What’s up?” Rufio said, matching his solemn tone.  

“Do they boys really think we’re going to find Felix?” Peter asked, “Be honest.”

The boys knew Peter was hopeful so they’d play along to his face. Rufio confirmed his suspicions, “They figure the cops are going to handle this. They’re just going along with this to make you feel better, especially after _everything_.”

_Everything_ , all the torment he put Felix through because his heart was broken. A part of him was wary, wondering if Felix purposely set this up as a game to hide something else, something hopeless, if Peter was simply imagining this killer to be the same culprit.

“I mean, they’re on the lookout for Marilyn and Mikey. Maybe they just stole that bat from someone or found it in the junkyard on their own,” Rufio commented.

“It’s not them,” Peter said, shaking his head.

Rufio shrugged, “How can you be sure?”

“Because I am,” Peter said, firm, confident with no basis Rufio could ever understand.

“Try me,” Rufio said, standing up from the wall, “You know something about this. Don’t you?”

_Try me._ If Felix didn’t believe him, it seemed like a stretch that Rufio would, “It’s going to sound crazy,” Peter started. Rufio remained solemn faced, brows furrowed, “Before that whole Marilyn and Mikey thing came to be, before we got the Lost Boys together. Felix was in danger. Someone wanted to kill him,” Peter swung his legs off the desk, falling deeper into his own words, “So I went out of my way to save him by befriending him. I protected him till now and that killer is back.”

Rufio looked as if a bucket of chilly water was dumped over his head. He was reaching forward, trying hard to absorb Peter’s words, yet failing to understand. He nodded, lipped smile, “Okay.”

“Figures,” Peter sighed, sliding off the desk, dusting himself off before heading towards the stairs.

“Wait. Peter,” Rufio called out, grabbing his shoulder, “I might not understand what’s going on with you, but I’m here. Alright? We’re here. So don’t go pulling out a gun and doing something stupid.”

Peter agreed, nodding despite the weight in his backpack.

 

“I’m home!” Peter announced, stepping into the house and kicking off his shoes. He saw his father in the living room, sitting eerily still as he watched TV, “Dad?”

His father’s head ticked in response, turning around, looking to his son, “Ah. You’re home.”

The brooding tone of his voice and his lack of animation frightened Peter. He approached his father, seeing him fidgeting with the home phone in his hand. Peter was immediately by his side, setting the phone aside, “What? What happened?”

Malcolm’s eyes glided up, his normally clear blue eyes now hooded and dull. Peter’s heart raced at the sight, imagining the worst scenarios, “They found Marilyn and Mikey,” Malcolm started, eyes losing focus, “Marilyn was dead and Mikey killed himself.”

The report was horrific but Peter couldn’t stop the slightest spark of vengeful joy in his heart. Those bastards got what they deserved, “Did they leave anything on Felix?”

Malcolm shook his head, fingers digging into his knee, “Nothing at all. If they really did kidnap or kill Felix, there’s no indication of where they put him,” He rubbed at his forehead, shrinking his posture, “Damn it. This just makes everything worse, doesn’t it?”

 Peter already figured Marilyn and Mikey weren’t behind this. He wasn’t sure if this confirmed his theory or not. Mikey was a mad dog; to kill his sister in a fit of confusion and then kill himself was not unbelievable.

Suddenly, Malcolm struck the table with his fist, growling, startling Peter into a jump. Peter reached out immediately, grabbing his father’s arm, trying to calm him, “Everything is going to be okay.”

Malcolm let out a sad chuckle, falling back into the couch, “How odd. My son comforting me instead,” He said, resting his face in the palms of his hands, “I miss having Felix around. It was fun,” He took a deep, panting breath, “This is such a mess. What have I done?”

Peter shook his head, “This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Malcolm said, rubbing at his eye absently, “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him. If he was with you the whole time, had you to watch out and protect him, this wouldn’t have happened at all.”

“I’ll find him,” Peter said, “This is what I was sent back in time for. Just like how you saved me from Felix’s father. I’ll save Felix and fix our future.”

Malcolm’s shifted to his son, remember that he also went through the same replay, bringing something back with him from the future, “How long do we have?”

“Two weeks,” Peter said, “Plenty of time,” He stood, marching up the stairs, shouting back to his father, “I’ve got this. Just trust me.”

Malcolm smiled to himself, laying down on the couch, covering his eyes and holding in his grief. It would not help his son to see him like this.

 

**Tuesday April 27 th, 2010**

Malcolm was easy to convince to let him skip class. If Peter couldn’t reach Neal or Michael, he’d find another Darling to hunt down. Wendy hadn’t responded to any of his text messages so Peter decided to go straight to her school, St. Mildred’s. an all-girls private school at the north end of Storybrooke.

Peter played it casual, using all his usual charm to devastating effectiveness, slipping into the school crowd despite being a boy in an army of girls. He stopped at a group of girls that someone had identified as Wendy’s usual clique, flirty and laid back as he spoke, asking them about Wendy Darling.

“Wendy?” A golden haired one said, tilted her head, “I haven’t seen her for a while. I think she went on a trip with her older brother.”

“What kind of trip?” Peter asked, folding his arms.

Another girl shrugged, dark haired and curious looking, “We don’t pry. Their family is a bit scary.”

Peter scoffed, chuckling, “They’re not the mob.”

“That’s _exactly_ what her chaperone always says,” Another girl said, giggling along with Peter’s joke, “But really, I’m pretty sure they’re the mob.”

_Damn right, they’re the mob._ Peter lowered his gaze, hiding his hopelessness from the girls. It would kill him to run this to a dead end. He could always storm the Darling house but he doubt anyone would just let him in without Michael or Felix as an excuse.

“Sorry to keep bothering you ladies,” Peter said, tossing his head back, raising a brow and watching some of them sigh at the look, “Do you know if there’s another way for me to speak with the Darlings? For the record, Wendy and I aren’t involved. I’m _single_ ,” He really had to thank his parents for his dastardly good looks.

The golden haired one perked up, “My cousin does an apprenticeship with Mr. Darling!”

_Apprenticeship?_ Peter’s eye twitched, remembering exactly what that entailed for Felix and entranced by what her golden hair implied, “You think I can get through to Mr. Darling with him?”

“I don’t see why not. Here’s his number,” She said, giving her friends and victorious glance before handing him a slip of paper with her number scrawled in blue ink, “And mine. Give me a call anytime you want.”

“Will do,” Peter replied, tucking the phone number into his wallet, bidding the girls farewell before leaving the school property and immediately making the call to her cousin.

The boy was scrawny, short, but fair skinned and golden haired. Despite only sharing those features with Felix, his whole withdrawn demeanor and paranoid gaze matched Felix to a tee. Peter tried to make himself as approachable and docile as he could but the boy still stared at him like a monster.

“What do you want?” The boy said, approaching Peter who remained seated on the bench.

“Exactly what I said. I want to know about your apprenticeship with the Darlings,” Peter said, seeing the boy’s hand twitch into his jacket, “Slow down here. I just want to talk.”

The boy hissed at him, “There’s nothing to talk about. I do a job for them. That’s all.”

His words gave Peter a feeling of nostalgia, “That’s what Felix thought too. You’ve heard of Felix Forrester, right?” The boy paused, paling. Peter smirked in success, “Felix was a friend of mine. He went missing recently. He also worked for the Darlings.”

“I knew Felix,” The boy said, surprising Peter, “He’s the part-timer Michael brought in.”

“Yeah, _part-timer_ ,” Peter said, purposely stretching the word to make the boy uncomfortable. Just like Felix, the boy reached for his sleeve at the thought of his job, yanking on it as if he was exposed, “And now he’s missing because of his old job, because Michael Darling went on vacation and no one’s protecting him.”

The boy scoffed, shaking his head, “Felix doesn’t know anything. He wasn’t good enough to get any further,” He said, mumbling under his breath, “Just there to absorb the punches,” The boy yelped when Peter suddenly grabbed his collar, wrestling him backwards and into the bench across from then, “Wh-What the hell!”

“I’m not here to reminisce about the past. I need to find Felix and I need a way into the Darlings,” Peter said, “I need names. Everyone you know who was a ‘part-timer’.”

“Fuck no, we don’t just hand out this information,” The boy said, grabbing Peter’s wrists and prying him off, “You want to get in with the Darlings? Do it yourself.”

Peter promised Rufio he wouldn’t rely on this. He couldn’t stop, not when he was so close, even if it was just blind hope. Peter reached into his backpack, the weight of the gun heavy, cutting into his hand, “Names. Now.”

 

_If I don’t text you in two hours, call the cops to the Darling mansion and send them this list of names…_

Peter waited in front of the Darling mansion, sitting against a fence out of view, staring at the phone until Rufio called him, no doubt desperate to talk Peter out of this. He set his phone to silent, stuffing it into his bag, list of names scribbled of a scrap of paper in his hand.

Ringing the doorbell, Peter summoned all the confidence he could, waiting for some butler or maid to answer the door and getting surprised by _John Darling_ , all smiles and charisma, standing at the front, “Peter! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

It was honestly surprising that he still remembered Peter’s name, “Uh, hey. I thought you went on vacation?”

“Vacation?” John said, stepping back, allowing Peter to walk in, “Ah, you mean my brother’s business trip. Yeah, he left with my sister. So, how’s life been working for you?” John said, gesturing him to the living room to sit but unperturbed when Peter refused, “Would you like some tea? I can’t make it as well as Neal can but it seems like the right thing to do to help you get comfortable.”

The buzz of joy was uncomfortable but familiar, John’s bubbly demeanor matching sociopath Nicholas to a tee, “I’m not here to chat. I’ve got something important to ask your father about.”

“Could I help? I’m rather well-versed in my father’s affairs,” John said, almost bouncing on his heels, “I _am_ his successor after all.”

_Perhaps._ It would be best if Peter didn’t need to use his blackmail at all, “Do you know anything about Easton Steel Bats?”

John narrowed his eyes, looking comically confused, “Easton Steel bats,” He looked over to his father’s baseball shrine, “My father was quite a baseball fan. I remember when the company went out of business; he was really put out, so he bought up all their bats at an auction,” John chuckled, lost in his own memory as if Peter had disappeared, “We ended up storing them all in the guest house. Mother was really unhappy with it so he started distributing them. Mostly donations to public centres and whatnot.”

“Giving them to his employees,” Peter chimed in, stunned in fear when John’s gaze returned to him.

“Ah, yeah! He’d get them signed and everything,” John said, “That was my favourite tradition.”

Peter paced, still feeling John’s gaze glued onto him, “Do you know where he may have donated the bats? Any records?”

“Can’t give them to you off the top of my head but my father probably has records in his office,” John said, tapping at his chin.

“Can I get those?” Peter said, watching John’s mood waver for just a moment.

John folded his arms, tilting his head back, “Why do you need those?”

“I’m looking for anyone that could own an unmarked Easton Steel bat,” Peter said, telling the truth, hoping it was just a palatable as a lie, “It’s important for…for Felix,” John’s gaze softened, “There was a bat in the murder case. I just want to know where it came from.”

Peter reeled when John’s eyes suddenly hardened, steely and sharp, dangerous but controlled. He took a step back unconsciously, immediately scolding his weakness when John approached, hands dropping to his side.

“My father is the only one with that information and he’s currently working in his office right now,” John said, firm and diplomatic, “I’m sorry. I can’t get you that information right now.”

His terror was tremendous, everything telling him to run back home and drop his quest. _For Felix, anything for Felix_. Peter swallowed, standing tall, pretending like he was the one in control, “James Mars. Enrique Vasquez. Roni Young,” John’s eyes widened just briefly, “And I know a whole lot more people than that. I know every one of your so-called ‘part-timers’. I know what Mr. Darling does to them for fun. I know what your family is. Unless you want that information getting out, you get me that information right now.”

John’s neutral expression was the most fearsome thing Peter had ever seen. Peter trembled at the thought of meeting Mr. Darling. The eldest brother nodded, smiling again, “Right. Give me a moment,” He broke off, heading to the basement, halting when Peter followed and holding up a hand, “You can stay right here.”

Reluctantly, Peter obeyed, clutching to his bag madly. He never thought being alone in a mansion would be the most terrifying experience he’d have. Once the terror passed, Peter used this reprieve to collect himself, hammering Felix’s name into his head and swearing to his goal. He took out his phone, texting Rufio, confirming his safety but telling him to keep to the plan.

Footsteps were coming up from the stairs. Peter put his phone away, fixing his clothes and hair, eyes locked onto John’s as he came back up. His eyes darted down to John’s hands, seeing no files in them. John simply smiled at him, “My father will be seeing you. He has the information in his office.”

Following John’s gesture, Peter took long strides as he approached the basement door. John’s hand came out suddenly, smiling with hooded eyes, “Your bag, please. Security reasons, you understand.”

Peter didn’t need it at all when he saved Felix and if he was patient, he figured he could have gotten all his information without using it. Peter put the bag down by the stairs, giving John a nod, “Thank you,” He said, walking down the stairs, tension swelling in his chest the further he descended, darkness washing over him.

Peter stopped at an open door, staring into a lavishly decorated office. It was pristine, too clean, as if it was always covered in plastic tarps. Peter stared at the walls lined with book shelves, packed with books, trophies, certificates, even newspapers framed with gold. There was another prized bat, wooden this time, framed on the wall behind the desk with another scrawling signature upon it. It was the perfect picture of a successful business man just like the rest of the Darling family.

“Ah, Peter,” The voice was coming from behind Peter, ushering him into the office before shutting the door behind him. The rotund man smiled to Peter, perfecting John’s occasionally flawed mask, “My son told me you had something to talk to me about.”

“Yes,” Peter started.

Mr. Darling gave him an odd look, “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m not going to hurt you.”

At the statement, Peter hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath and clutching his hands. He relaxed his form, following the older man who gestured for him to sit on the couch across from his desk. Peter sat down, absently playing with the plush covers. Mr. Darling remained standing, friendly smile as he poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter, waiting for Peter’s move.

Peter wondered if this was a test of character, if Peter would spin his lies to a man who mastered the art or wield the truth like an ineffectual dagger. He started neutral, “I want information on where you donated the Easton Steel Bats.”

Mr. Darling smiled, shaking his head, “That’s not what you’re here for. It’s what you told my son and what you told yourself, but we both know the truth,” He poured a second drink, placing it in front of Peter before joining him on the couch across his, “Let’s try this again. What are you here for, Peter?”

Peter narrowed his lips, “I’m here for Felix. Where is he?”

Mr. Darling smiled, lips twisted under his mustache, “ I like you, Peter, ever since you pretended to be Michael’s friend to get close to Felix. You’ve got a good mind, quick thinking, resourceful,” He laughed, looking to coax something from Peter, “Courage. Though, seems a bit more like bombast. You’re exactly the kind of person I want working for me.”

“I’m not interested in getting beaten for money,” Peter said, snappish.

“Of course not. That’s not you,” Mr. Darling said, placing his glass of scotch down, “You’re not dull, simple-minded, _boring_ , like your friend,” Peter’s fists tightened, “I never would have chosen him to work for me, but Michael begged for it. I likened it to a boy finding an injured puppy and taking it in. There’s a _reason_ why that puppy was tossed into the street.”

Peter fought to keep his anger in check, “Where is Felix?”

Mr. Darling reclined, hands steepled over his stomach, smiling wide and mocking, “No clue,” He was unperturbed when Peter bolted to his feet, fury finally slipping through, “As you know, he has _some_ sensitive information. Nothing enough to worry about but enough for us to keep tabs on him. I’ve had someone tail him for a while, watching from a distance. Michael knows nothing of this. It’s my own surveillance.”

Peter despised the pause, knowing that Mr. Darling was simply waiting for him to offer something. He took out the piece of paper from his pocket, sliding it over to him, an silent offer of peace between them. Mr. Darling smiled, aware that Peter probably had other copies but acknowledging the gesture.

“Thank you, Peter,” He said, leaning forward, “Felix was taken away in a car Saturday night. I had someone tail him for business reasons. She lost them in the warehouse district. And before you ask,” Mr. Darling stood, meandering over to his desk, “We checked the license plate and found the car compacted in the junkyard.”

Presumably the same night Felix’s bag was abandoned there, “Did you learn anything else?”

“I haven’t looked into it. We concluded that it was unrelated to us,” Mr. Darling said, tapping something on his keyboard before turning to the printed behind his desk, handing the list to Peter, “As a sign of goodwill, here are all the locations I’ve donated steel bats to,” He folded his hands behind himself, “I believe we’ve come to an accord then?”

This generosity was a façade. Peter knew very well that Mr. Darling held all the power. He thanked himself for playing the diplomat, knowing that his silver tongue won him over, “Thank you. That’s all,” Peter said, hanging onto the list, bowing his head before exiting the office. It was as if the air itself was less dense, allowing him to breath easily as he stepped out.

As he surfaced once more, Peter took his bag from the ground, making his way to the door with a quick jaunt, before John stepped out from the living room, blocking Peter once more with a single gesture, “Not yet.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, clutching his information tightly, “What?” His eyes widened when the boy he was interrogating stepped out from the living room, a smile playing on his lips.

“We both understand that this disrespect can’t go unpunished,” John said, head ticking upward, displaying none of the kindness he once had, “And then you go and threaten Emil with a gun,” His head ticked again. Peter had no time to react as several men came up behind him, grabbing his arms and dragging him back. John fixed his glasses, nodding to ‘Emil’, “Go make him some tea.”

Emil nodded, following Peter as he was dragged into what appeared to be a gym room and restrained on a chair. He snarled, teeth bared, kicking wildly and hopelessly as the boy cracked his knuckles. A baton was wound around his neck, strangling him if he didn’t yank at it with both hands. Finally restrained, Peter nearly retched when a fist collided with his stomach, no reprieve to breathe as the beating came.

 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” John said, kicking Peter out from the backseat of his car before signalling to his chauffeur to keep driving.

Peter rolled onto the pavement, coughing up a spot of blood as he crawled his way to the sidewalk, curling up as he collapsed on a patch of grass. He spied his reflection on a nearby bus stop, seeing no injuries on his face or arms while his torso was a mess of bruises and bleeding. He prodded at his ribs, hissing at the pain, hoping he didn’t break his ribs. Frightened, Peter reached into his backpack, relief washing over him when he found the list he received from Mr. Darling. He got exactly what he wanted; the beating was worth it.

As he stuffed the sheet back in, Peter’s hands grazed the _empty holster._ He gasped, emptying his bag onto the grass when he couldn’t concentrate on searching. It was not surprising that they took the weapon, a warning against retaliation. He hurled the backpack onto the ground, cursing his impulsiveness at threatening Emil.  

Remembering what he told Rufio, he quickly texted him, calling off his contingency plan. He spat into the dirt, curling up again as his torso was filled with dull pain. If he went back to his father, he’d send him straight to the hospital. He’d forbid him from leaving on his mission to find Felix, claiming that it had become destructive. This was not something Peter could allow, especially when he was so close.

This wasn’t just a shot in the dark, wasn’t just some fantastical game Peter was indulging in to muffle his guilt at forsaking Felix. He received solid information on Felix’s disappearance, learned that he was taken to the warehouse district. It made sense why Mr. Darling was suspicious; that was where his dead drops were picked up. He ruled out that this was involved with his ‘business’ and Peter had no reason to disbelieve him.

Peter chuckled to himself, a balm to his dull pain. At least he wasn’t dealing with a mob war, “We’re not the mob,” Peter mimed to himself, mocking every single person that said that to him. He rolled onto his knees, groaning, before climbing to his feet. _Hold on Felix, I’m coming._

 

W **ednesday April 28 th, 2010**

“Dad. Dad!” Peter said, shaking at his father’s slumbering form, “Wake up.”

Malcolm grumbled loudly, rubbing at his eyes before rolling to face Peter, “What the hell? Why are you still up?”

“I just woke up. It’s morning,” Peter said, nodding towards the clock.

Malcolm followed Peter’s gaze, groaning again when he spotted the time, “Damn it, Peter. It’s 6 AM!”

“I know. I know. It’s just,” Peter couldn’t fight his smile, “I know where Felix is.”

Immediately, Malcolm shook off the exhaustion, following Peter back to his room.

“There was a witness that saw Felix in the Warehouse District. So I started there,” Peter started, scrolling through the registered schools in the Storybrooke site, “Most public centres and schools closed down even before the City Redevelopment Plan.”

Malcolm hummed, “Is that where our search is going to start?”

“Even better. I can narrow it down more,” Peter took out the list Mr. Darling had given him, “The Darlings made donations to only two places in the Warehouse district, both schools. One of those schools shut down: Pennbrooke Elementary School. That’s the place.”

Malcolm snatched the list from Peter’s hand, examining it, double checking Peter’s information on the Storybrooke site. He swallowed, nodding to his son, “Let’s go. Right now.”

Agreeing, Peter threw on a new set of clothes. He looked through his drawers, nervously taking out the pocketknife Neal gave him long ago which landed in Felix’s possession for a while before he gave it back to Peter. Things could get dangerous, even with his father beside him, which meant he’d need protection. He placed the knife into the pocket of his light jacket, running down the stairs to meet his father.

Malcolm was at the door, twirling his keys, smiling at Peter, “Good job,” He said, stepping forward, giving his son a tight hug before getting rebuffed. Malcolm blinked, confused.

Peter meant no ill will; his body was still reeling from the beating the Darlings had given him and his father’s touch agitated it. He stuttered when he spoke, lying by telling the truth, “I got into a fight. Maybe broke my ribs, I don’t know.”

“W-What?” Malcolm said, “Who? What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Just, occupational hazards,” Peter said, opening the door, “It’s not important. Let’s go.”

Malcolm didn’t press anymore, aware that Peter was hiding this for a reason. His hands were tight on the wheel, lips pressed shut, anything to keep himself from trembling. He was anxious, just as Peter was, to see this through. Turning off the highway, Malcolm grimaced at the sight of the first few dilapidated buildings in the Warehouse District.

“Ugh, I’m so glad you didn’t grow up in this place,” Malcolm grumbled, slowing down before making another turn, “Your mother made a good call.”

Peter snorted, “Right. You grew up here.”

“And its just as much of a shite hole back in my day,” Malcolm commented, “Even before this whole City Redevelopment thing.”

“Make a turn here,” Peter said, gesturing ahead, “There. That’s Pennbrooke Elementary.”

“I don’t even know why they called this ‘Pennbrooke’,” Malcolm commented, driving past the gate and pulling up at the front door, “Looks like its haunted.”

Peter couldn’t disagree. The abandoned school was in shambles, windows broken or boarded up. Peter could see rubble and collapsed drop ceilings. He wondered if even homeless people would choose to stay here. It made it the perfect place to hide someone. Peter undid his seatbelt, taking out a flashlight from his jacket before opening the door.

“Whoa, hey, stop,” Malcolm said, “You’re not going into that deathtrap. I’m going.”

“No way. I’m going in and you can’t stop me,” Peter said, already out of the car, watching with disdain as his father followed.

“I already lost Felix. I’m not losing you too,” Malcolm said, circling the car, “I’ll go in. You stay out here.”

Peter took his father’s shoulders tightly, a firm, reassuring hold, “I know you’ve protected me since I was a kid but I’m older now. I can protect myself. And besides, between you and me, who’s got a better chance of navigating that?” He gave his shoulders a pat, breaking away, “I can take care of this. Trust me.”

“Then let me go with you,” Malcolm said, trying to follow his son.

Peter shook his head, “You need to stand watch. If I’m not back in ten minutes or if you see anything suspicious, call the cops.”

Malcolm was clearly still reluctant but he knew his son was just as stubborn as him. Once Peter committed his mind to something, it would take a miracle to guide him elsewhere. Malcolm smiled, wagging a hand forward, beckoning Peter to another hug. He kept his arms at his shoulders, away from Peter’s afflicted torso.

“I love you, alright?” Malcolm whispered, clinging to his son with a saddened look, “Don’t get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter responded, bumping foreheads with his father before pulling away, “And besides, after I rescue Felix, maybe he’ll fall back in love with me.”

The words made Malcolm smile, giving his son an affectionate wave as he stood patiently by the car with his phone out. Peter looked away, holding his breath as he opened the front door and stepped inside, turning on the flashlight as he did.

The school was filthy, potentially hazardous from the amount of glass shards and mold along the walls. Peter paid it no mind, weaving his way through destroyed lockers and other debris. The door into the main hall was rusted shut forcing Peter to take a side door into what appeared to be a maintenance tunnel. He huffed, following it to what used to be a hallway of classrooms.

_Easton Steel Bat_ , Felix’s murder weapon and the object that led him to this place. If the item was found here then it seemed reasonable that Felix was somewhere nearby. _The gym_ , that was Peter’s first destination. Peter followed the hallway down, shining a light on an old poster that had fallen to the ground: _Dodgeball Tournament at Lunch!_

Peter swept his foot across the bottom, seeing an arrow that matched up with a fork in the hallway. Following the poster, Peter turned left, marching down the hall until he met an old Shop Class studio and a stairwell. Peter couldn’t stop himself from peering into the studio. There were still saws hanging on the wall, left behind when the school shut down, potentially used to dismember Felix after his death.

Heart pounding so loudly, Peter took a second to catch his breath. He concentrated on the winds whistling through the building, the sound of rats scuttling around. Carefully, knife drawn, Peter made his way down the stairs using his jacket to protect himself from the moldy air. His other hand kept the flashlight pointed forward, revealing the dilapidated basement gym that looked like it was converted into cheap storage shortly before the school shut down. Peter climbed over desks, shelves, stacks of mouldy textbooks, till his eyes fell upon a crate of miscellaneous sporting equipment.

_BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA._

Peter reached into the crate, hands immediately finding a bat. He pulled it out, swallowing as his flashlight reflected off the matted steel. The Easton logo was visible through the dirt just as it was in the photo. _The murder weapon_ , Peter couldn’t bear to look at it. He threw it halfways across the gym, watching it bounce several times before clattering with a door, pushing it open just enough to reveal a sliver of light.

Peter froze, blinking twice. _That couldn’t be light from the outside_. It was too pale to be sunlight, flickering like a fluorescent tube. Peter lowered his flashlight, sneaking over to the opened door and nudging it open, finding a dimly lit hallway that led to multiple storage rooms all with their doors ajar except for _one_. Unlike the rest of the school, rotting and abandoned, this hall was relatively clean with what appeared to be fresh boxes stacked all around, _footsteps in the dust._ Out of curiosity, Peter opened on, finding it filled with _ropes, gags, knives, a car battery_ hidden at the bottom. Another box was filled with bed sheets, some dirtied with stains.

_Tortured. Assaulted. Murdered._

Peter clutched at his mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. This had to be it. Peter approached the sealed door, spotting a lock that seemed out of place and new. He unlatched it, knife in one hand, other hand pushing the door open slowly.

The first thing that reached him was the smell, pungent and stale, a faint mix of bodily fluids but primarily sweat. The light was dim, dark enough to sleep but bright enough to see. There was what appeared to be a small TV in the corner, bolted down to a desk that also appeared to be bolted down. There was a piss bucket in the corner furthest from the door and a large basin on the side of it filled with clear water. In the middle was a large bed that could easily fit three people and a frail body laying upon it.

Peter’s heart ached horribly at the sight. The step he took wasn’t unnoticed. The figure in bed immediately curled up at the sight, whining in his throat, fearful, “Felix?” The figure stopped, blond snarls poking out from the thin sheet, “It’s me.”

Awakened by his voice, Felix sat up slowly, thin sheet gliding off his body to reveal that he was in nothing but shorts and a thin dress shirt. Padded cuffs circled his wrist, connecting him to the headboard with a long chain. He turned slowly, grey eyes flickering open, trying to focus on him. At the sight, Felix pulled forward, chains rattling as he got to the edge of the bed, eyes watering.

“P-Peter,” Felix choked out, voice rough and quiet, “Oh my god.”

It was difficult to look at Felix, features gaunt and body weak, dressed like a slave and filthy. Peter couldn’t tear away though, feeling like Felix would disappear if he looked away for just a moment. He put the knife away, dropping the flashlight to the floor as he rushed at Felix and embraced him, clutching him like he was the only thing that mattered in this world.

“I got you now. I got you,” Peter whispered into his neck while Felix sobbed dryly into his shirt, “You’re safe now. I promise.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Felix whined out.

Peter shushed him, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s all over now,” He held Felix’s face, staring into his eyes, seeing tears welling in them and guilt creasing his face, “What’s with that look?”

“I thought you were dead,” Felix sobbed weakly, clutching at Peter’s jacket with all his strength, pressing his face into his neck again.

Peter chuckled lightly, nuzzling Felix’s face. He pulled away and immediately Felix’s hands came up, tracing his cheeks, his lips, as if he were just an illusion that would shatter at his touch, “Dead? It’ll take more than a brick to the head to kill me.”

Felix was shaking his head, “No, no, no,” He couldn’t stop himself from clinging to Peter even as he tried to cut off his padded cuffs with his knife, “Y-You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Peter said, clicking his tongue as he kept trying to slice off the leather.

“ _Malcolm_ said you were dead.”

Peter blinked, meeting Felix’s eyes, narrowing his own, “What did you say?” The truth didn’t have time to simmer as an arm hooked itself around his waist, squeezing tight. Peter screamed, disabled by pain as he was shoved and pinned onto the floor. He twisted his head back, eyes wide in horror, “W-What…what the hell?”

“Stop! Stop, please,” Felix said, scrambling forward, reaching for Peter but stopping when Malcolm grabbed the chains and yanked him backwards. Malcolm was on him in an instant, wrestling Felix back down, snarling at him wildly, “H-Help—Peter, help!”

Peter tried to lunge at his father but a firm squeeze to his stomach disabled him once more, crippling him with unbearable pain. He collapsed onto the ground again but this time, Malcolm followed him, muffling his son with a cloth soaked in chloroform.

Peter choked, shoving wildly and coughing, staring at his father as he blacked out, “Dad, why…?”

 

The first thing Peter heard when he awoke was the loud rumble of a car engine. He opened his eyes, finding himself wrapped up in a blanket with his wrists tied together. He groaned, head pounding, ribs aching. The sunlight was blinding him, forcing him to keep his eyes shut, stopping him from glaring at his father who he knew was in the front seat.

“What…” Peter choked out, “What the hell?” His father said nothing. Peter wasn’t even sure if he could hear him, couldn’t lift his head and check. He went limp in the seat, panting to stay awake. Delirious, Peter kicked at the door, trying to get his father’s attention, “Dad!” He shouted, voice sounding like a growl before going limp once more, stomach churning as his head spun.

The person he trusted most, the person who raised him, the person who went back in time to protect him. _Felix’s murderer_. All of Peter’s efforts only made it easier for Malcolm to steal Felix away, building up trust between the two. With their current relationship, it would have been little effort for Malcolm to convince Felix to go on a ride with him or feed him a knockout drug _disguised in a lunch box._

The haze haunting Peter warped time. He wasn’t sure when the car stopped or when his father stepped out, mind spinning from whatever was lingering in his system. He gasped when the door by his head opened, a gust of fresh air reinvigorating him. Malcolm was there, face grim and shadowed as he grabbed Peter carefully around the shoulders and hoisted him out, carrying him over to a tree and sitting him there carefully.

Peter wanted to spit poison at his father but his concentration was stolen away immediately by the _well_ in the distance. His fingers were shaking, eyes glued to his father as he opened the trunk of the car. He swallowed, terrified, but finding relief when Malcolm pulled Felix out, _alive and intact._ Felix had his wrists bound behind him with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. His feet were unbound, his injury sufficient to prevent him from running. He was hysteric with fear, nose running, staring at Malcolm like he was a madman. Malcolm held no affection that he once had as he tossed Felix onto the floor across from Peter, shoving him against a tree with his foot so they sat across from each other.

“Dad. What the hell is going on?” Peter said, unable to piece together even the slightest coherent motivation, “Why are you doing this?” This well, this location, the same place the original killer ditched Felix’s body, “I don’t understand. Why are we here? Why did you kidnap Felix?” Was it the affair? Did something happen that made Malcolm need to kill Felix? His father was back at the car, sorting through something in the trunk, “Goddamn it, say something!”

Malcolm’s eyes shot in his direction, filled not with anger but with _grief_ , regret. He lifted a cardboard crate from the back, carrying it over to Peter and Felix. The taller boy was reeling immediately, shutting his eyes and retracting when Malcolm approached. Peter remained still, staring at his father, mustering as much fury as he could.

“Answer me!” Peter shouted, flinching when Malcolm threw the crate at his feet, kicking it open before walking over to his son and cutting off his bonds with the pocketknife he confiscated from him.

Malcolm pulled away as soon as he freed his son, marching over the box, eyes locked onto Felix who shrunk away from his gaze, “There’s your answer.”

Peter flexed his hands, reaching forward, sorting through _police reports_ , “What is…” His heart sank, picking up a photo that slipped out from the files. A chill unlike anything else filled him as he stared at his own face, skin leathery and torn, _decapitated at the head_. He dropped the image, turning to his side and throwing up a watery bile. Malcolm said nothing; Felix couldn’t move. As soon as his nerve returned, Peter went through all the files as quickly as he could.

Peter Banning, disappeared on February 16th. Body found on April 28th, dismembered in a well. Death via Blunt Force Trauma, patterns suggesting _a brick_ was used as the weapon. Again and again, the story was repeated in every report. Sometimes the date changes, sometimes the weapon changed, sometimes he wasn’t butchered and was simply stuffed away, sometimes the location of his body differed, but it was all the same: Peter was murdered. It took a while before it clicked but Peter pieced it together fast enough. His eyes scanned Felix, shock and pain ripping his mind like a torrent, “You killed me.”

In a world where Malcolm does not kidnap Felix, in a world where Felix does not befriend Peter, Felix would have broken Peter’s skull open with a brick the next day, finally having enough, pushed well past his breaking point by _everything._ He’d butchered him with his mother’s tools, stuffed him away in a garbage bag, and threw his remains down a well. And again and again, Malcolm relived this world, failing to save his son. And again. And again. And again.

Till one replay.

“I saved you from his father,” Malcolm whispered, voice frighteningly low, “Only to lose you to him.”

Peter ran a hand over his face, wishing he could relieve Felix’s confusion, “Goddamn it,” He choked out, shoving the police reports away, “You killed him to save me. Was there no other way?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” Malcolm snapped, gruff and desperate, “I’ve tried the peaceful option. I’ve tried getting cops involved. I’ve tried saving him from his mother. Time and time again, I come home one night, doesn’t matter when, and you weren’t there. You never came back. And a month or so later, your body turns up in a well, butchered to the point where I couldn’t even recognise you,” He ran his hands over his face, “I tried _everything_. Believe me. But every single fucking time, Felix snaps and kills you.”

Peter huffed, “So your tortured him because that would help you save me somehow?”

“Do you know how many times I’ve gone through this?” Malcolm exclaimed, growing more furious and distraught, pacing faster between them, “How many times I _failed_ and had to see you butchered in a morgue?” He stopped, tucking his face into his hands. The library of police reports proved this, “How many times Felix would slip past me and murder you?” He turned, kneeling, grabbing Felix by the chin and forcing their eyes to meet, “Every single time, he’d get away. Do you blame me for wanting to get even?”

Holding Felix’s jaw, Malcolm pulled the piece of tape off Felix’s lips, staring at him intently while Felix trembled violently, “I-I don’t understand. I don’t. Please. I-I—” He gasped, lips snapping shut when Malcolm bruised his jaw with his fingers.

“I’ve spent so many timelines chasing you,” Malcolm said, voice even and painful, “I know you so intimately. It hurts,” Peter could see it in Malcolm’s eyes: _Regret_. In some other timeline, Malcolm’s loathing turned into love, seeing a helpless boy crying out for a savior, “But I can’t risk it. You’re a loose cannon, just like your mother and father.”

No matter what Malcolm tried, no matter what events Malcolm altered in his timeline, the outcome was always the same. Felix would kill Peter, pushed over the edge by his tormentor, even when his life was better due to Malcolm’s intervention. It was a constant Malcolm never figured out how to stop without killing Felix.

“This isn’t the first timeline where I loved him,” Malcolm said, standing back up, looking at his son, “There have been many, _many_ replays. Even when I loved him, when I made him happy with my own hands, he would kill you,” He took a deep breath, slowing the turbulent emotions in him, “Not this time.”

“My timeline too,” Peter muttered, depression washing over him, “You succeeded in torturing and killing him.”

“That’s why your timeline exists at all,” Malcolm said, reaching out, “Because I saved you from him.”

**Monday January 25 th, 2010**

_“Freak.”_

Felix flinched but kept walking, trying to get away from judging eyes and gossiping mouths. He came to his locker, ignoring the slurs written upon it as he unlocked it and grabbed his books. He stuffed them into his bag haphazardly when he saw a certain crowd of seniors walking over. He scrambled to shut his locker and clamp the lock on but was too late, finding the lock slapped out from his hands and the books knocked out from his bag, kicked around by the crowds of students walking past him.

Felix couldn’t hear the jeering laughter, heard nothing but white noise, auditory numbness that matched the rest of him.

When lunch came, Felix couldn’t scrape together more than three dollars from his bag. He missed breakfast; he was starving but he really didn’t want to leave the basement where he usually hid during lunch break. When he couldn’t stand the hunger anymore, he went to the lunchroom and walked briskly to the snack machine, sticking coins into the machine with shaking fingers, trying to get a simple candy bar to eat.

No one jeered, no one approached, Felix thought he was lucky for just a moment in his life until he returned to the basement and found his bag missing. _For fuck’s sake_ , he just wanted to eat.

“Ugh, at least you’re not on a team with Felix.”

Felix didn’t react even when he could hear his classmates sitting behind him talking about their previous class. Felix didn’t want to work with them either, but he wasn’t going to broadcast it to the world. He took out a spare notebook he found abandoned in one of the classrooms and a pencil he swiped off a teacher. It was art class which meant he’d get scolded for not bringing in his sketchbook.

Dreary, exhausted, Felix found himself scribbling into the notebook as the teacher announced their next project. His pencil was busy drawing circles on the page, drawing nooses, pills, knives, all good things in Felix’s mind. Not like his life, there was nothing good in that. Nothing at all. It made him wonder why he worked so hard for a mother that beat him, a father that abandoned him, a school that despised him, an employer that also beat him but at least sheltered him.

Felix’s vision was blurring but he honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Felix, you’ll be working with Peter.”

The haze broke for just a moment. Felix’s gaze drifted up, meeting Peter’s across the room. He blinked, confused at how bright everything suddenly became. He never had the courage to speak with Peter, letting the boy torment him without conversation, fearing that his interactions now would shatter the Peter he once spent the best years of his life with. Felix smiled, tiny and weak, hand sluggish as it waved at Peter shyly.

Peter didn’t even respond.

“We’ll just take photos of each other, alright? Just because we must draw each other, doesn’t mean we have to meet face-to-face,” Peter said after class in the hallway while students were clearing out, snapping a picture of Felix lazily while the lanky boy remained still, “What?”

“Won’t the teacher find out?” Felix mumbled, “If we use the same picture.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “I’m not letting you take more pictures of me. Just change it a bit when you draw. It’s not hard,” He narrowed his eyes, “And you better delete that photo when you’re done.”

Felix nodded, eyes drifting to his phone, movements sluggish as he lifted his phone and snapped a photo. It was blurry, his cheap phone not good enough to capture details and his hands trembling in fear but he didn’t want to waste anymore of Peter’s time. He nodded, putting his phone away while Peter circled around him and joined his friends.

Felix looked on, forlorn and lost, blinded by the light.

 

**Friday January 29 th, 2010**

It was so disgustingly obvious. Felix knew what was happening when Peter started warming up to him, when he invited him to lunch with his friends, when he shared lunches with him _._ Felix could already see his imminent humiliation, could see Peter and his friends looking back at this fondly while Felix wished he was dead. _But this was Peter,_ caressing his arm, whispering into his ear, stroking his knee under the table, so effectively seductive, Felix couldn’t stop himself from falling in love again.

At Felix’s locker, humming to himself at the memory of Peter drawing playful sketches in the margins of his notebook, Rufio approached him after breaking off from the football team. Felix didn’t like Rufio, thought he was loud and obnoxious, but the concerned look on his face was making him doubt his thoughts.

“Don’t hang around with Peter,” Rufio said, voice low and wary, “It’s not going to end well.”

It didn’t sound like a threat, more like a warning. Felix didn’t respond and didn’t absorb it. He thought the humiliation would be worth it, anything to hear that velvety voice whisper dirty words into his ears. Felix sighed as he worked on his sketch, chest feeling warm and full in a way he never thought possible as he finished his charcoal drawing of Peter. He spent hours on just his eyebrows, on the way they quirked when he spoke. He ran his fingers against his lips, trying to imagine them against his own.

When Peter invited him over to his house, Felix knew it would all come crashing down.

“My father’s out,” Peter said, guiding Felix in, purposely examining him from head to toe, “We’ve got this whole place to ourselves,” Felix hummed in acknowledgement, clutching his bag close to himself. Peter chuckled, looking endeared as he ran his hands across Felix’s forearms, “You can put that down, you know. I won’t bite.”

Blood rushed to Felix’s face and crotch, his voice breaking and airy as Peter pried the bag away from him, “Ah, Ah. Yeah. You’re right,” He said, sticking his hands into his sweater, backing off, “So. Are we going to do…something together? Like a movie or dinner or—”

“I want you to come to my bedroom,” Peter said, eyes hooded, gliding his hands up Felix’s arms, “Please?”

Against such a smile, Felix could not figure out how to say no. He let himself get walked up the stairs, stupid look on his face as Peter sat down on his bed, leaning his head back, licking his lips hungrily as he kicked his legs. Felix couldn’t keep his eyes off, desperate to burn this into his memory forever.

If this was temporary, Felix wanted Peter to know the truth, “I’ve always dreamt about this,” Felix whispered, toying with the hem of his sweater, “Always. Always dreamt about you. I’m so glad we could spend time together again. Really, these past few days drawing with you were the best times of my life.”

Peter was unreadable, his seductive look disappearing. Felix wasn’t sure if it was disgust or lust in his eyes. The smile returned shortly after though, clearly manufactured, “I like you a lot, Felix,” He spoke. Felix suppressed his natural warning alarm, “Can you get on your knees for me?”

A goofy smile stretched over Felix’s face as he knelt on the ground, Peter’s eyes widening and hungry like he was undressing him in his mind. Felix followed his instincts, stripping off his sweater and unbuttoning his jeans until Peter burst into loud, rude laughter. Felix flinched, hearing others laughing. He thought it would hurt less if he was aware that it was going to happen.

Surrounded by jeering classmates, hands shoving at him pathetically, Felix wandered in a circle like a lost child, pushed around mentally and physically, lost in a haze until Peter’s voice cut through it, harsh and bitter, “Get back on your knees, Felix. I like you better that way.”

Distracted, Felix did not expect the heavy shove to his chest. He crumpled onto the ground, dropping his clothes as he scrambled for the door on his hands and knees. A foot collided with his shoulder, pushing him back, sealing him in. All Felix wanted was for everything to _stop_ ; he covered his head, whining into his arms, trying to shrink away. All he had to do was endure, just like he did with his mother, just like he did with Mr. Darling, _endure_ and they’d get bored and leave him be.

Felix almost immediately broke his plan as Peter went through his text messages, went through all the dirty things he sent Peter, all the affectionate words that soured with the new perspective. When Felix’s body and mind were compromised, Peter attacked his heart, so intent on thoroughly destroying him. The tension in Felix’s chest burst, filling him with searing heat, burning him from the inside out. His eyes flickered up, filled with murderous rage, pupils narrowed into pinpoints as he charged forward, screaming wildly as he tackled Peter down.

His attack was short lived and foolish. He was surrounded by Peter’s beefier friends. His attack had no chance but he couldn’t stop himself, so blinded by rage, so desperate to grab Peter by the hair and break it against the backboard. Hands were clawing him all over, yanking him back, holding him still as they all took their turn beating him with their fists until he crumpled to the floor. When Felix had no more breath to shout or sob, they dragged him outside by his arms, nearly pulling his arms out of his sockets, kicking him into the snow and following him out.

The beating was going to continue. The humiliation never ending. With all the energy he had left, Felix bolted away, forgetting his jacket, his backpack, just desperate to get _away_.

“Where are you going Felix?” He could hear Peter’s voice, “Aren’t you going to suck my dick?”

**Tuesday, February 16 th, 2010**

Felix just wanted to apologize, just wanted to thank him for giving him just a bit of brilliance in his life before it ended. Even if it was just a game, even if it ended in such suffering, Felix still treasured it. That thought sounded pathetic when he reiterated it in his head but Felix was past the point of caring.

Really, Felix just wanted to see Peter one last time before he killed himself.

Felix wanted to approach him at school but was driven off by the bustling crowds of students. Felix wanted to approach him on the train but Peter’s friends created a barrier around him. Even when they dissipated and Peter marched through a small commercial district, Felix found himself unable to get close knowing that Peter wouldn’t speak to him when people were around to judge him. Felix followed him, waiting until no one was around. In front of a former park he once played at with Peter now converted into a massive construction site, Felix called out to him.

“Peter,” He said loudly, waiting patiently as Peter turned around, “I just wanted to talk.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, lips pulled into a grimace, “What the fuck? Were you following me this whole time?”

Felix’s mind was buzzing, thoughts too quick and too messy, “I didn’t know when I should talk to you.”

“Try _never_ ,” Peter snapped, walking over to him.

Felix shook his head rapidly, “I wasn’t…”

“Are you telling me you _enjoyed_ all of that? It wasn’t real and it never will be real,” Peter said, not listening to Felix, just simply wanting to rant and it was just so _unfair_ , “You are fucking obsessed with me.”

_…Yeah. I am._

“All of that time we spent together was a lie. There wasn’t a single moment throughout any of that where I _enjoyed_ your presence,” Peter berated, furious, “You’re a fucking stalker and if I ever see you come close to me, I’ll call the cops.”

Felix was trembling again but not out of fear. Something dull and painful erupted inside of him, trickling into his limbs, burning him, but he didn’t know what it was. It was worse than that night with the video, way worse, filling his vision with black. He’d never felt something like this inside of him before and after living life like a shell, numb and empty, this bubbling fury was the most _alive_ thing he had felt in a long time.

And then he felt numb, painless, a preferable state, a survivable state.

“Fuck off, Felix,” Peter hissed, stepping back and turning away, walking home briskly.

Felix wasn’t himself, blinded by light. He had to stop the light before if burned him to ash. His eyes flickered to the bricks on the ground, fingers twitching as he picked on up and smashed in Peter’s skull.

 

“ _No, no, no, no, no, no_ ,” Felix mumbled curled up in the corner of an abandoned public bathroom by the construction site, sobbing uncontrollably next to Peter’s mutilated corpse, his face nearly unrecognizable, the rest of his body intact.

Felix somehow dragged Peter’s body there, catching all the blood with his jacket. No one had seen him, no one would know till they tore the bathroom down. He had nothing to look forward to, no future, no friends. _He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve happiness_. His suffering from birth to this moment was all to punish him for murdering Peter.

Felix’s eyes flickered down to Peter’s body, bile bubbling up his throat at the sight of Peter’s tongue hanging out from what used to be his mouth, shards of teeth stuck to it by blood.

“I’m sorry,” He sobbed out, reaching out and taking Peter’s hand, realizing this would have been the only way to hold it. He collapsed into hysteric sobs, so broken, so weak, so desperate to wring just one good moment from this.

With his mother’s tools, Felix spent the entire night dismembering Peter’s body, stuffing it into a garbage bag, and smuggling it away in his mother’s car. He drove as far as he could, right to the edge of the town where he spotted an old, abandoned well. Dragging the bag, the weight of the world on his back nearly equal to the weight he was dragging, Felix threw Peter’s body into the well, collapsing against it and sobbing against the mossy stones.

“Thank you for spending time with me.”

That was all Felix wanted to say.

 

**Wednesday April 28 th, 2010**

If Felix lived, Peter would die. If Felix died, Peter would live. Peter hung his head, smothered by this horrible destiny. The guilt he felt in the present time, Peter wondered if it was just from scorning Felix before his disappearance or if, deep down in his soul, Peter was consolidating all the guilt and frustration from every single timeline.

“Do you understand now?” Malcolm muttered, crouching to his son, “If I don’t kill him, he’ll kill you and I can’t let that happen, no matter what I feel for Felix.”

Fighting through the emotions, Peter couldn’t accept this, “You’re wrong. That’s not the only way,” He closed his fists tightly, “It was me. I caused all of this. Felix kills me because I bully him relentlessly. Felix kills me because no matter how much happiness he gets, I’m always there to break it down,” Peter’s eyes drifted to Felix once more, unable to imagine Felix killing him. This Felix adored him. This Felix would do anything for him. In a world where Peter scorned him, what did that adoration become?

“I want to believe you,” Malcolm said, voice weak, eyes weary as he looked at Felix, “More than anyone in this world. But I can’t risk it. This is the only way I can be sure that you live.”

Peter pursed his lips, standing up, forcing his father to step back, “I don’t live. Seven years from now, I die, and you too. Michael Darling kills both of us.”

“Michael?” Felix gasped out, biting down on his tongue when Malcolm yanked him up by his wrists forcing him into a half-crouch while he held him by his neck.

“That’s what triggered my replay,” Peter said, the pain of his neck splitting open still fresh, the terror of his father’s dying body still wracking him, “I was digging into Felix’s death and Michael Darling caught wind of it. He put the pieces together and killed us in revenge,” Peter reached out to his father, flinching when the older man backed off, “That’s why I was sent back all the way here instead of weeks before Michael kills us. If you kill Felix, you’re sealing our fate. Michael will kill both of us without fail.”

Malcolm wouldn’t let go, clinging to Felix with an arm around his neck, hand clutching the knife ready to slit his throat. He shut his eyes, cursing himself, clinging to Felix tightly, “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You haven’t been through what I’ve been through,” He was shaking his head reluctantly, “I can’t let Felix live. I can’t risk it.”

A whine slipped from Felix’s throat as Malcolm’s hand flexed. Peter took in a quick breath, lunging forward, “Wait!” He shouted, voice breaking, echoing in the trees above them, “We can leave Storybrooke. Just me and you, we leave here, leave Felix behind,” His hands were up, fingers trembling.

Malcolm tongued the inside of his mouth, the smile on his face awkward yet malicious, “You think I haven’t tried that before? You come back one day to visit mother and you go missing the next day.”

“It’s different this time. I won’t try to contact Felix. He won’t try to contact me,” Peter swallowed, morale cracking at Malcolm’s immovable expression, “Please. Don’t kill him. I’m begging you,” He hung his head, chest swelling and hammering, “Dad. Please.”

A strangled cry broke from Malcolm’s lips, hissing under his breath as he released Felix’s throat, pulling him onto his still  feet so he could stand while he supported him from behind. Felix took a slow breath, trying to use the relief to soothe his terror. His eyes slid open when Peter reached out, stroking his cheek, smiling first to him and then his father.

“We’re going now. He stays right here so he can’t follow us,” Malcolm said, hanging onto Felix’s shoulders to keep him perched up, “Get in the car.”

“Can I say goodbye first?” Peter said, staring at his father with wide, desperate eyes.

Malcolm almost laughed, letting himself get swayed by his son’s puppy eyes. He nodded, still clinging to Felix, one hand tight on his shoulder with the knife still clutched in it while the other held the chain of his handcuffs. Felix understood, remaining quiet, head bowed while Peter said his goodbye.

Leaning his forehead against Felix, whispering so many apologies, Peter caressed his scarred cheek with the back of his knuckles, “Can I kiss you?” He asked, tired smile on his face as Felix nodded back to him.

“Always,” Felix said, fighting sobs when he realized this would be one of the last times he’d see Peter.

Peter sighed, so happy, lifting Felix’s face and pressing a kiss to his mouth, working his lips pliant. He didn’t want to break off, didn’t want the cool spring air to steal away the warmth between them. He clutched Felix’s head, fingers tangled into his snarls of hair, lips smearing across his cheek, pressed against his ear as he whispered, “ _I’ll come back for you._ ”

Felix stiffened at the words, head ticking back, breath puffing in front of him. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek, “I’m sorry for everything.”

“It was worth it,” Peter said, smiling as he pulled away. He took several steps back, watching his father intently, “Let him go. You promised.”

“Get in the car,” Malcolm said. He didn’t press any further verbally but the blade in his hand glinted just so in the light.

Peter’s fingers dug into his fisted hands, bottom lip crushed under his teeth as he backed off towards the car, watching them the entire time as he opened the front door, staring at Malcolm and waiting. His father nodded to him, satisfied.

Carefully, Malcolm turned Felix around. His brilliant blue eyes now terrifying to look at. Felix’s gaze immediately met the ground, feeling the exact same heavy pain in his chest when confronting his family. It felt absurd that Malcolm would be the one drawing that feeling from him. He didn’t fight when Malcolm turned his chin up, didn’t fight when Malcolm closed in, kissing him firmly and holding him still. Felix couldn’t stop himself from shuddering in disgust and coughing violently when Malcolm moved, holding Felix against his shoulder.

“I love you,” Malcolm whispered into his hair, hand coming around Felix’s neck and _slicing his throat open_.

Peter couldn’t even speak, voice caught in his throat as he watched blood spraying out from Felix’s throat, triggering scenes of his own death. Peter reeled, screaming in phantom pain, stumbling around in the leaf-covered ground.

The pain was sharp, sudden, but the shock was the worst. Felix could not even react, eyes wide, blood squirting out like a geyser, coming out in spurts with his rapid heartbeat, staining Malcolm in its beautiful colour. He couldn’t manage a sound, eyes rolling backwards as he collapsed forward, the warmth of Malcolm’s body overpowering. Malcolm pushed him backwards off his shoulder as if he was nothing of importance. The pained expression on his face betrayed his true feelings.

Shaking himself out from his trauma, Peter rushed at Malcolm, taken aback when his father charged at him in response, hooking him around the torso, squeezing tight and making him cry out in crippling pain, “ _Fuck you_!” He screamed, feet kicking, squirming out from his father’s grasp but unable to find a foothold. He collapsed onto the ground, a stray root digging into his ribs, a sharp and terrible pain. Peter scrambled when a hand took him by the back of the shirt, dragging him back towards the car away from Felix, “N-No. No. No! You promised!” Peter shouted, grabbing at Malcolm’s wrist but finding all his strength robbed by his pain.

“I can’t take the risk,” Malcolm said, throwing Peter into the car, arm still around his torso, squeezing him when he rebelled, “I’m sorry.”

Peter struggled relentlessly, hissing and scratching at his father, horrified when he saw him retrieve the bottle of chloroform, “Fuck you, you’re not sorry!” He shouted, throwing an elbow into Malcolm’s face, stunning him briefly before wrestling the bottle from his father and smashing it over his head.

Miraculously, despite his measly strength, Malcolm released him. Peter scrambled away, fighting through the pain as he leapt out of the car and ran towards Felix. The puddle of blood growing from his neck was horrifying to look at. It worsened when he saw Felix’s eyes twitch, spittle coming from his mouth, dying slowly. Panicking, Peter pressed his hands against the cut, holding it tight, begging that this was enough to slow his death.

“It’s okay. Everything will be okay,” Peter said, applying as much pressure as he could to the gash, sobbing when he felt the blood bubble through his fingers, “Felix. You’re okay. Please be okay.”

The unlikely reprieve didn’t last long. Peter snarled in pain when his father tackled him down, forcing him away from Felix, pinning him into the leaves. He hissed in pain, adrenaline dulling it, letting him struggle and scramble in the leaves till his hands came upon a heavy metal hilt. His eyes snapped to the pocketknife Malcolm discarded, seeing his solution out from this.

_For Peter to live, Felix must die_. _For Felix to live, Peter must die._ This was a rule Peter refused to live by.

Staring at Felix while Malcolm tried to pin him down, eyes filling with tears at his bloodstained body, Peter took the knife and pressed it against his own throat, “I’ll see you soon,” He said.

The metal was heated against his neck, the blood spilling onto his collar almost soothing. Malcolm was shouting but he’d never stop Peter in time, couldn’t whip the knife from his hands. In sweet death, Peter’s war against his father would restart. Again and Again, Peter would keep trying to save Felix. Again and again, Peter would fight his father, an endless, circular path devoid of freedom.

…

“What the hell is going on out there?”

Peter’s hand faltered, the knife pulling away, leaving just a surface wound on his throat. He blinked, the pressure off his body but still unable to move. Peter watched his father bolt away, jumping into the front seat and driving off as fast as he could, leaving Peter and Felix alone in the dirt. Peter gasped, seeing a pair running towards them, one clearly a hiker judging from his gear and the other an _ash-haired woman_ with a gun in hand and a rookie badge on her belt, called her by the suspicious screaming.

_The one who discovered Felix’s body, a hiker that frequented this area. April 28 th._

Peter dropped the knife, clawing forward, holding Felix’s throat tight. He shouted for help till his chest ached.

 

**∎∎∎∎∎** **d** **∎** **y March 25 th, 20** **∎∎**

“Hey. Can I finish that?”

Felix blinked several times, waking up from his daydream, peering up slowly to the scruffy man looking down at him, “What?”

“Your hotdog,” The man said, voice scratchy and low as he gestured towards Felix’s half-eaten meal.

Felix figured he must’ve been hanging on to it for a long time, lost in thought. He handed the hotdog over, wiping his hands on his pants before picking up his worn satchel and walking out from the shelter. His eyes met the sign and his skin immediately chilled.

_Storybrooke, 10 miles._

This day had to come. Felix could have taken the bus but he opted to walk, let him delay his journey as long as he could. The sun was setting by the time he officially stepped into town. It had been years since he killed Peter, years since he hid his body and ran away. He heard the report on the news, saw his father furious and sobbing on the screen, saw his school photo as the prime suspect. They weren’t wrong but Felix was good at hiding, good at being unnoticed.

To this day, Felix wasn’t sure why he ran, why he didn’t go through with killing himself. It just didn’t seem right to die with Peter, felt like sacrilege to pollute Peter’s death with his own. Felix needed to suffer, needed to go through punishment before he could find peace.

The case had been cold for years. Felix shaved off all his hair, grew messy scruff, _burned his cheek_ to hide his scar in melted flesh. He was unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t know him in the past. Keeping his head down, Felix stepped into a convenience store, grabbing a couple snacks from the back shelves before paying with cash and stepping out. A dinner of candy bars and chips, Felix felt like nothing had changed at all.

He walked by his mother’s apartment, found the building torn down and replaced with a parking lot. He figured his mother didn’t stay; he hadn’t bothered cleaning the blood from her tools, no doubt implicating her as an accomplice. He felt no sympathy, felt absolutely nothing even as he walked by the shiny, new condominium that took the place of Peter’s murder site.

He walked through the city, walked past everyone who gave him odd glances. This strange, broken, little man that kept his gaze down, caught everyone’s attention but not enough for them to make a move. Felix was good at keeping his head down, good at hiding from prying eyes. He smiled as he spotted the lights from inside a bank. He took a seat by the light post outside, waiting for the one person who would recognize him.

“…Felix.”

The broken man looked up, smiling at the handsome middle child of the Darling family, “Hi Michael,” He muttered, slipping as he stood, fixing the beanie on his head nervously, “I-I need your help,” He sniffled, “I wanted to say goodbye but,” He shut his eyes tightly, anything to stop the tears, “I need your help.”

Michael understood, always understood. The one time he reached out to someone ended up with a boy’s death. This coupled with his years working for his father hardened him and stopped him from providing sympathy.

Felix figured Michael didn’t want to stick around long. He got what he asked for at the local pharmacy and handed them to Felix: _Sleeping pills_ , enough for a month or in Felix’s case, _just one night._ All those years after he killed and mutilated Peter, Felix kept living, kept looking for happiness. There had to be a reason that he got away with it, had to be a reason for him to keep crawling forward like he did. In the end, after years of failed jobs, feeding off shelters, and sleeping on the streets, _Felix found no such thing_.

“Peter,” Felix muttered, reading the gravestone in front of him, fingers gliding over the surface of the stone as he collapsed into the grass and wept, “Peter, Peter…”

_Peter Banning,_ young and charismatic, could have gone to any school in the world, could’ve gotten any job he wanted, _snuffed away_ before he could make any impact in the world. By the hands of Felix Forrester, Peter was stolen away before he could fulfil his perfect life. For his heinous crime to the world, did Felix suffer enough to pay his penance? That’s all Felix wanted to know right now.

Laying on the grass, Felix took the pills Michael had given him with trembling fingers, wishing things were different, wishing he hadn’t been born so Peter could have had a happy life, could’ve had everything in the world.

“Thank you for spending time with me.”

 

**Saturday May 1 st, 2010**

The room was too bright when Felix opened his eyes. His body felt like lead, numb but warm. He groaned loudly, the only thing he could manage when his throat felt like sandpaper. He tried to move, but found his limbs clumsy and heavy. Felix groaned again, blinking rapidly to adapt to the unyielding brightness. He thought the drugs would kill him; he took enough to make sure of that. He must have messed up, someone must have found him before he perished, pumping the drug from his system. Felix knew this would end poorly. Someone in the hospital would recognize him and jail would be the perfect chapter to conclude his miserable life.

“Felix.”

The voice echoed in his head. Felix lolled his head to the side. Blinded again by brilliance, Felix shut his eyes tight. He’d been in the dark so long; he was hungry for the light so he opened his eyes once more, expecting the blindness but seeing a warm smile instead.

Peter was staring back at him, sitting beside the bed with his head laying on the mattress, eyes wide with relief and glistening, a shaky smile stretching across his face, “You’re awake.”

_…What?_

 

Felix’s sessions with the doctors to get him breathing and moving on his own gave him time to gather his thoughts. His real memories came back slowly, blurring and mixing with the memories Felix could only assume was a coma dream: _He killed Peter and hid the body, finally pushed over the edge. He ran away from Storybrooke, kept his head down, tried to find happiness but finding nothing at all till he finally returned to Storybrooke and paid his penance._ Felix shook his head, unable to believe this. The images were so vivid, the pain so real, Felix couldn’t believe that all he had coming out of it was a stitched neck.

“Something wrong?” Peter said when Felix was returned to his bed, “What’s on your mind?”

Felix blinked, too engrossed with staring at himself in the mirror seeing a head of golden snarls and a scarred, youthful face staring back at him. He touched his skin, feeling that wretched scar and not the burn tissue he had grown accustomed to. His skin was fair, soft, yet smarting with the pain of a flame against his flesh.

“What year is it?” Felix whispered

“2010,” Peter said, “It’s only been a couple days since…you know,” His voice lowered to a whisper, “Is something wrong?”

Felix struggled to speak, “You’re… alive and you’re… here.”

“Of course, I’d be,” Peter said, lips turning up to smile but fading when Felix did not reflect the same joy, “After everything we’ve been through, it’d be a crime if I wasn’t,” Peter said, examining Felix, seeing him _here_ yet not, like he had lived a second life before waking from his coma. Stiffening, Peter’s face sobered, “Tell me everything. What do you remember?”

Something was wrong, horribly wrong. Felix found himself in tears as he described it: _He killed Peter, finally snapping after Peter chewed him out one last time, shattering the back of his skull with one hit and unable to stop himself from destroying that beautiful, perfect face. He was so fed up with everything, so furious, and he took it out on the one person he still cared for even after all the abuse._  

_The pain when he splashed his face with lighter fluid and set it on fire with a match was unbearable but he weathered through it, thinking of the pain he had brought upon Peter and biting down on the wet cloth in his mouth. He dunked his face into the river before it got any worse. Just a little to hide his scar, to disfigure him just enough to hide suspicion._

“Stop, Felix, stop it,” Peter said, arms coming around Felix as he sobbed hysterically, stilling him so he wouldn’t accidentally burst his stitches, “That’s enough. You don’t have to keep going,” Peter understood it all too well: It was the life Felix would have lived had Malcolm not intervened, had Peter not intervened.

“But I killed you,” Felix gasped out, remembering that fateful day by the well where Malcolm stood and condemned him to Hell. Felix felt pulled into something he did not yet understand, just as he didn’t understand when Peter tried to convince him in the basement and Malcolm had when he was locked up in the abandoned school, “I killed you and I cut up your body and I-I…”

“ _Stop_ ,” Peter said, voice soothing and soft, “No more. You did nothing wrong,” His hands glided down, one curling around Felix’s waist so he could squeeze him tighter, “We didn’t go through all of that so you could lose yourself in your other life.”

Felix whined, pressing his face tight into Peter, “But I…”

“We’re here now, together, _alive_ ,” Peter whispered into his ear, feeling Felix’s tense body loosen under him, “Let’s think about that and only that,” Felix had calmed down but Peter had yet to. For four months, Peter only wanted Felix to find happiness, to save himself from his horrible fate. He _needed_ to see Felix wake up, to see Felix smile, to see that Felix had a future, “Thank you.”

Hands were weak on Peter’s shoulders as Felix returned the hug. He held Peter tight, memories of his kidnapping and near-death resurfacing, remembering the plight he had gone through, remembering the happiness Peter and Malcolm gave him before he was taken away. There had never been a greater moment in his life and if he had to face near death again to hang onto those precious memories, Felix would gladly do it.

“What are you thanking me for?” Felix choked out, letting Peter crush his weak, frail body, “You saved me.”

_What was Peter thanking Felix for?_ Once upon a time, there was a hollow life lived out by a shallow, pretentious boy who made it seem like he had the world in his hands and a future carved out for him when he was really a juvenile and stupid child under his brilliantly blinding lies. He had no real friends, only a father whom he relied on, and eventually, he lost his life because he relied on his father too much. _Felix gave him purpose_ , gave him a chance to make everything right, to set multiple lives back on the right track.

Peter released Felix reluctantly, sitting back in his seat and staring at his friend with something stronger than longing, stronger than affection, a love that existed beyond time and space, “I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you.”

 

**Thursday May 6 th, 2010**

_It feels like a long time ago but technically, it hasn’t happened yet, nor will it ever happen. After you disappeared, after my father kidnapped you, it felt like my world fell apart. I know we weren’t close; I know I was cruel to you but for some reason, when you disappeared, all I could think about was that I could’ve have saved you. If I wasn’t so resistant, if I wasn’t so spiteful, we could have made up and I could’ve protected you._

_Why was I so resistant to you? A part of me thought if I let you in, all my friends would hate me. They’d lump me together with you and then I’d be the school freak, the bottom of the pyramid. That would have been unbearable; I would have wanted to hide in my room and never leave. But then I realized, that’s what you’ve been living through since we were children. You’re strong, stronger than I’ll ever be._

_The other part of me though, I think that part of me still loved you. Since we were children, since you were my best friend, I’ve always loved you. Peter and Felix, together forever, just like Peter and his Lost Boys. Then you spurned me after the falling out with my mother and I just couldn’t get over it. I never did, never had any meaningful relationships after that moment. What I’m trying to say is that I’m weak, so weak._

_That’s why you died, because of my weakness. If I hadn’t let you go home alone, if I let you in, you would have lived. That’s what I believed and in a way, I guess that’s true. If I wasn’t a stupid, little kid, I would’ve told my mom about what I saw in your home and she would have intervened. I didn’t though, probably for the same reason I shunned you. I didn’t want your problems to become mine._

_Before I knew it, I grew up. I never realized that I wasn’t invincible, that I wasn’t brilliant, that no one’s going to give me kindness just because I have a pretty face and smooth words, unlike how you had. That’s why I failed to achieve anything I wanted. But I blamed you for it. I blamed that I kept fixating on you, fixating on your death, that I couldn’t move on from my childhood. It’s not true; it never was. My fixation on your death had nothing to do with me being childish and simple; that was my own fault._

_I know this part will sound crazy but I’ve lived this life twice. The first time was this life where you disappeared and I grew up shallow and childish. This world now, this is my second time through high school. This time around, I did the right thing and came after you. I cast away everything that I took for granted. Being with you again, shouldering your pain, making your problems my own, opened my eyes. That’s why in this world, I understand now. I understand everything._

 

In a hospital entrance, under the light of setting sun, basked in golden light, Peter told Felix the whole story.

 

“Do you believe me?” Peter asked, watching Felix’s brow furrow as he processed everything. He had just been released from the hospital, passing all his physicals and health checks, neck still bandaged but sufficiently healed up. Peter didn’t want to dump so much information on him all at once but Felix begged for it.

“It’s a lot t-to take in,” Felix tailed off, nibbling on the crook of his finger nervously.

Peter could tell Felix was unsure. He couldn’t blame him but he couldn’t fight the disappointment. When Felix first awoke, he was hysterical, recounting the memories of living as a miserable vagrant after killing Peter and running away before finally taking his life when he figured that he paid his penance. Now, after all the trauma had passed, when Peter asked him about the other timeline, Felix couldn’t recall it at all like a dream that had long been forgotten.

Multiple worlds, multiple timelines, that was something normal people couldn’t comprehend. Just Peter. Just Malcolm.

Peter didn’t fight when a hand came up and stroked his cheek lightly. Peter blinked, thoughts fading away as Felix leaned in with half-lidded eyes, lips parted as he closed in and pressed them against Peter’s. Almost immediately, finally alive after several days of numbness, Peter kissed back, lips working slowly as his hands came up and took Felix by the jaw.

Felix didn’t pull away when they parted, keeping his forehead firm against Peter’s, “I…sorry. I know we weren’t—I shouldn’t.”

Peter didn’t let go, clinging to Felix, keeping him close. Right now, this was the only thing he wanted. There was too much suffering in these past few days, too many broken hearts and twisted love. The only thing Peter wanted right now was something concrete and vivid like the boy standing in front of him.

“Look at you,” Peter cooed, mouthing at Felix’s jaw, “You’re blushing.”

A breathy sigh slipped from Felix’s lips, the taller boy leaning in to give Peter better access, “Of course I am,” He took Peter’s hands, holding them against his chest, “You spent all that time with me in the hospital,” _Everyday_ , even when Peter had homework to finish and friends to catch up with, Peter waited in Felix’s room, chatting with him idly and cutting fruit when bored, “Thank you.”

The prize was worth the effort: Finally repairing the rift between himself and Felix.

 

His home had never felt some hollow in his life. Peter stood in the living room, trying not to imagine his father at the kitchen, chuckling along to Peter’s stories, lounging around in the living room with a beer. This place was sacred to him all the way to his adulthood, his haven after a grueling day, _and now it was empty_ , shattered like his father’s pedestal.

Peter shut the television when the report came on, when Malcolm’s picture and name was plastered all over the screen, urging people to turn him in. He fell onto the couch, rubbing at his eyes, torn up from what he had done. If he wanted to set things right with Felix, if he wanted to give him a good life, he had to sacrifice his father.

Peter cursed himself, grabbing the remote controller and hurling it at the floor, furious with himself, “I would have left with you,” Peter said, curling his fists around the back of the couch, staring at his father in his mind and seeing a man broken down from trauma, from being caught in an endless cycle trying to save his son, from smiling and giggling even when he was torn apart by so many replays. How ironic that after all his efforts, he’d never get to see his beloved son ever again.

Quelling his rage, Peter returned to his task, dragging his suitcase upstairs to his room so he could pack up his things and move to his mother’s place. It had been a while since he’d seen her, Malcolm’s custody warding her off. It always puzzled Peter how his mother allowed Malcolm to have sole custody after suspecting him of murder. He figured his mother didn’t care much for him but it was okay, Peter understood now, grew up, _matured_ , something he would have never attributed to himself in the first timeline.

The doorbell rang, startling him. Peter didn’t think his mother would be here this early to take him away. He came back down the stairs, opening the door to see Michael Darling at the entrance, clean shaven with a new haircut.

“Michael,” Peter greeted, backing up to let the Darling in.

Michael rebuffed him, holding up a hand, “I won’t be here long,” He said, “I just came to thank you.”

“For taking care of Felix? Of course,” Peter said, watching Michael tick his head back, examining the sky.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help. Family matters,” Michael said, giving Peter an awkward smile, “I know we haven’t been on the best terms in the past. I want to correct that, especially after everything you did for Felix,” He extended a hand, “Thanks.”

Peter didn’t accept it, knowing that Felix’s suffering was wholly his fault in one way or another, “Why do you care so much?”

Michael’s gaze drifted to the floor, submissive for once, “You know my family does bad things, right?” Peter quirked a brow, “I’m a part of most of it. It’s grating, you know, on your soul. That’s why I thought if I reached out to someone,” A boy, standing at the edge of a train platform, ready to end his life, “I thought it’d balance out what I do. Doesn’t seem like it does though. I guess its just something I have to live with.”

Peter couldn’t find a proper response, humming back, finally taking Michael’s hand and shaking it before bidding him farewell. The last time Michael was here, _Peter and Malcolm had their throats slash_. Now, years before such an event was slated to happen, Michael was making peace with Peter, breaking that awful path.

Peter nearly shut the door till another car pulled up. He paused, curious who this may be but relaxed when he saw Rufio step out from the driver’s seat with Felix in tow. He smiled, welcoming them in, “What brings you here?”

“Thought you’d need a bit of help packing,” Rufio said, walking in with his hands perched behind his head lazily, “And Felix missed you.”

Felix’s breath hitched, stuffing his hands into his pocket, turning away and revealing the stenciled wings on the back of his new hoodie, “Just a bit,” Despite everything that had happened to him, Felix could only feel peace when he stepped into the house, laughter buzzing in his stomach at the happy memories of Peter, _of Malcolm_ , protecting him from his family, joking around on the couch, simply eating dinner.

“Felix?” Peter called out, taking one step onto the stairs before extending a hand, “Are you coming?”

Smiling, Felix nodded, taking Peter’s hand with a firm, still grasp as he followed him, “Yes, Peter.”

 

**Wednesday February 25 h, 2015**

So much time had passed but Peter could still recall _that day_. As he rode a bus home, Peter couldn’t stop himself from thumbing through his phone, staring at old articles and blurry photos. It took a text message from Nicholas to shake him from the past, asking him out for drinks and snacks with the rest of the boys. Peter smiled, tapping back a quick response before exiting the bus at his stop and walking into his apartment.

“It’s so cold out. I can’t—” Peter said, taking off his backpack, distracted by Felix dozing off over the desk laying on top of his cover sketch. Peter almost wanted to chuckle at how tuckered out Felix was, spending days working on the cover art for Peter’s new graphic novel, locking himself up in their apartment until it was ready. While Felix never reached the same amount of raw skill Peter had, his determination made up for it.

Rolling Felix off the desk and into his arms, Peter dragged him backwards and into their bed, tucking him in carefully, “There you go,” Peter said before joining Felix on the end of the bed, stripping off his outside clothing. More than anything, Peter wanted to collapse in his bed and fall asleep with Felix after a long day of storyboarding at the studio but he was on a harsh deadline. He really had to get his new chapter done or his editor would be on his ass.

On cue, his phone began to vibrate. Chuckling lightly, Peter stepped into the hall so he wouldn’t disrupt Felix before he answered the phone, “Yeah, yeah,” He said, this routine too familiar, “I’ll get it done by tomorrow night.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” His editor said, joining Peter in a chuckle, “By the way, I’m sorry about that argument we had. You were right; the readers love Felix and Peter’s relationship.”

Peter smiled, leaning back to spy Felix curled up in the sheets.

“Anyway, make sure you get that chapter in. Have a good night.”

“Thanks, you too,” Peter said, remembering the once scathing, condescending tone this man took against him in another time and world, _remembering the coffee he threw in his face._ Peter couldn’t suppress the snicker.

Putting his phone away, Peter took a seat by the desk, picking up Felix’s portfolio to slide his cover in but immediately distracted at the content. Felix’s depiction of the sharp cliffs and ominous forests of Neverland was sublime, the sunset skies a perfect complement to the cool shades of blue and green. In the middle was _Peter Pan and Felix_ , scouring the skies together, finally confessing their love to each other after years of tension. Pan was earthy and jagged like the forest while Felix was vibrant and wispy like the clouds, perfectly juxtaposed on the background. The two looked so good together in real-life; Peter knew it would work in graphic novel form as well.

Peter looked to Felix at the thought, remembering the staggered look on his face when Peter announced that his first graphic novel submission would be a gritty retelling of Peter Pan, a boy wild with dreams and imagination, with stoic Felix as his foil.

_“You can’t just put me in your novel!” Felix said, stuttering, bundling himself up in blankets and hiding from Peter’s view. Felix played at being offended but Peter knew he was overjoyed. The blushing in his ears was a dead giveaway, “I can’t believe you still remember all that about Peter Pan.”_

_Peter quirked a brow, infuriatingly seductive, licking his lips, “Please?”_

_Looking at Peter for even a second was his biggest mistake. Felix groaned, yanking Peter’s pillow out from under his head and covering his face, “Fine. Asshole,” He grumbled loudly, rolling onto his side, “I hope the editor rejects your manuscript.’_

_“Oh please,” Peter said, climbing on top of Felix, pinning him down and removing the pillow, “You think anyone would reject me?”_

More than anything right now, Peter wanted to climb onto Felix and pleasure him for hours, a show of appreciation for becoming his primary cover artist. Pushing his lust aside, Peter replaced Felix’s drawings with his own sketches. He had twelve pages to ink and less than twenty-four hours to complete it. Cracking his knuckles, breaking out his brushes and inkwell, Peter started on this grueling task.

In his mind’s eyes, looking through time and space, Peter could see the drawings he made. In that previous timeline, Peter thought he had perfected his abilities, perfectly reproducing the complex imagery in his head. Only now did he realize how foolish that thought was. Even with all his experience, he would never be able to perfectly represent what Neverland looked like in his mind. He’d never be able to paint in the colours of the trees, the water, the sky. He’d die before he could ever capture all those details in a single panel. This is what he received from his second chance: Clarity.

The thought made Peter’s heart ache, fingers ticking suddenly, ruining the straight edge of a drawn blade. He cursed under his breath, taking whiteout to repair the smudge. In exchange for a successful job, a doting lover, Peter lost the person who meant the most to him. His heart ache only worsened, halting him completely from his work. Peter pulled away, eyes gliding up to the corkboard on his wall, examining photos of himself and Felix on a movie date, Rufio and the rest of the Lost Boys at the beach, himself and his mother on his birthday, _Neal and Michael_ attending the Day One Release of Peter’s novel, but not Malcolm, never Malcolm, the father that would kill his lover to save his son’s life.

Peter’s eyes fell upon Felix again. Occasionally, Felix spoke in his sleep, whispering Malcolm’s name, sometimes in fear, sometimes in happiness. Peter never brought it up to him knowing how Felix would freeze when Malcolm’s name came up, their brief romance tainted by the scar on his throat, still vivid to this day.

The pain was still there. Peter thought he’d grow accustomed to it if he thought about it more but it only ripped open a gash inside of him. His eyes fell to his phone, scrolling through his contacts absently until he found an unmarked number. A while ago, when Peter released his first novel, when Peter moved into a nicer apartment with Felix finally leaving the cheap college dormitory he was illegally camping in, he found a lunch box of beef stew outside his door with a number stuck to it with a post-it. Peter didn’t tell Felix about it, eating the beef stew at work and tossing out the post-it the moment he entered the number into his phone.

Stepping outside, Peter cursed himself and called the number, waiting patiently by the door, breath hitching when the dial tone stopped, the silence deafening and uncomfortable, “…Dad?”

Peter could hear it, a hitch in his breath, a sigh of relief, hand scraping over his scruff, “Yeah. Its me,” His accent was unmistakable. Since that day at the well, since he slit Felix’s throat and tried to stop Peter from saving him, Malcolm hadn’t seen Peter once. His mother took custody of him and kept him and Felix in protective custody for years while Malcolm was on the run, “H-How are you?”

“Good,” Peter said, leaning against the wall, eyes shut tight, “Did you see my graphic novel?”

Malcolm hummed, a smile in his voice, “Yeah. It’s really good. I always knew you’d do great. The romance is really nice too. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

_The romance_ , Peter Pan and Felix, Peter wanted to be offended but couldn’t find the stomach for it, “Mm. Peter Pan and Felix, together forever.”

The following silence was unbearable. Peter was tapping at the wall nervously, anything to fill up that empty space. Malcolm broke it first with a scoff, “He’s going to hurt you.”

The fury was easy. Peter wondered if Malcolm intentionally ignited it to make their conversation smoother, “Are you still going on about that? It’s been five years and I’m still alive,” This Felix, protected from his cruel family, protected from his worst bully, getting into college with a scholarship achieved through willpower, it was absurd to think Felix would ever hurt Peter, “Felix will never hurt me.”

“After everything I’ve been through,” Malcolm said, “I can never be sure.”

“You don’t know Felix.”

“Neither do you.”

Malcolm’s words were bitter, intended to hurt Peter with their truth. Everything he went through, the decades spent in the reliving those same months repeatedly, losing Peter time and time again, falling in love with Felix and watching him succumb to the darkness. Malcolm was right; Peter would never know all of Felix, not the way Malcolm knew him, “That’s fine,” Peter said, “I don’t need multiple timelines to know Felix. I just need one good one,” He knelt on the ground casually, knees propped up with an arm lazily resting upon them, “If you _ever_ come near Felix, if you even think about hurting him now—”

“I’d never,” Malcolm whispered, “Unless it was necessary.”

Peter clicked his tongue. He couldn’t forget that in his original timeline, Malcolm _tortured_ Felix before beating him to death. Even if Malcolm’s feelings for him restrained him in this time, Peter could never forget the intent that sat dormant in his father, “You’re a monster.”

The chuckle from his father came out like a gasp for air, “You think I _want_ to kill Felix? You think it didn’t kill me to do it? It’s the only way. It’s the only reason you even got to your replay.”

“That’s not true. It wasn’t the only way,” Peter said, gaze firm against the wall, “You were so fixated on Felix being the cause of everything, you never figured out what really caused everything,” In the worlds when Malcolm made Felix happy with his own hands, offering love, friendship, security, _Peter was always there to rip it away_. All along, the cause of Peter’s death was Peter himself, greedily devouring Felix’s happiness and unleashing the monster inside of him.

Malcolm was silent. To know that he fought for so many decades against the wrong target, to know that his unconditional love for his son was what caused this mistake, to acknowledge this truth would surely kill him. Malcolm did the only thing he could do, “Good luck on your next novel. I’m so proud of you.”

Peter was silent, so desperate to respond but holding himself back.

“Tell Felix I still love him.”

With that, his father hung up. Peter dropped his arm, phone sitting limply in his hand as he slid back up the wall slowly. His eyes were shut, head pointed upward, breathing choppy. Peter didn’t know it was possible to love and dread someone so much. _Was this how Felix felt about me for so long?_

When he finally collected himself, Peter brushed himself off and opened the front door, startled by Felix standing beside it, eyes wide, hand cupped around his ear. Felix stuttered, hands kneading at his sweater, “S-Sorry. I was just…” He swallowed, stilling himself, “Was that Malcolm?”

Peter nodded, opening his arms to pull Felix in. His father would forever be a part of Felix as well, loved and dreaded, “You’re safe. He won’t hurt you,” Peter said, eyeing the scar on his neck before flickering away, unwilling to let the memory stain him in this moment.

Guiding him back inside, Felix stopped at the desk, blinking away the sleep in his eyes, “Shoot. I need to finish that cover,” He gasped when an arm coiled around his waist under his shirt, dragging him backwards into the bed. A smile was already stretching across his face, “P-Peter?”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, curling up beside Felix, “Let’s take a short break. I haven’t seen you all day; I want to spend some time with you. Then we can get right back to work, yeah?”

Hands joining his, Felix had meant to stay awake but the moment his head hit the pillow, Felix dozed right off. Peter remained awake, turning Felix onto his back and memorizing his face, his mewling lips, the peaceful expression he made when he was deep in slumber. Decades of his father’s life and four months of his time distilled into this one perfect moment. This world, this timeline, Peter couldn’t imagine how he used to lived without this.

Lips popping open, eyes still shut, Felix said in a dreamy sigh, “Thank you for spending time with me.”

Peter smiled, brushing his fingers against his cheek, “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that marks the end of my Panlix obsession (maybe). Thank you all for reading!


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